Audrey pinched her cheek, confirming she wasn't dreaming. Her eyes sparkled as a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She couldn't help but stand up, curtsy to the air, and, lifting her skirts, twirl lightly in her room.
The golden-haired young lady began dancing the "Ancient Elven Dance" popular in the court, light-footed and full of innocent joy.
She didn't notice, however, that her reflection in the bronze mirror did not dance with her.
"The Elven Dance isn't like that… But it's well danced."
Eli Walker—currently a mirrored specter sealed within the ancient artifact—commented as he quietly observed the young lady from within.
As a virtual personality born of the spiritual realm, Eli had no interest in dwelling within her consciousness longer than necessary. His nature was closer to a man in the mirror, one that could slip between reflections when the spiritual conditions were right.
Knock knock.
Audrey's personal maid, Annie, entered after being granted permission. She looked at the young lady and smiled, "Which dress would you like to wear?"
Audrey thought for a moment. "The one from my seventeenth birthday."
Annie raised an eyebrow. "No, that would make others think the Hall family is suffering a financial crisis. How can one dress be worn twice in public?"
Eli wasn't interested in noble fashion debates. With a wave of his hand, the surface of the bronze mirror shimmered and sealed itself off—isolating the mirrored world.
"Are there so many Beyonders in the Hall family?" he muttered.
"Though none of them can fight."
The strongest person in the estate was merely a Sequence 6, far from capable of detecting his presence.
He had to recover now. His spiritual projection, tethered to the Fifth Epoch, had grown thin and ragged. He needed replenishment, and information.
Eli raised his finger and traced a rune across the mirror's surface—the summoning sigil of Arrodes.
"Eli? Is that you?"
Silver Elvish runes bloomed on the glass in response.
"It's me," Eli replied. "Since you recognize me, this isn't a parallel world. Good. Now send me all linguistic data and common knowledge of this era. And help me replenish my spirituality."
He paused. "Also… where's the me of this epoch?"
The mirror shimmered.
"You answered my question. Now it's my turn to answer yours."
"This is the Fifth Epoch. Approximately 2,500 years after the Age of Strife."
"You are the Uniqueness. There is no second you."
So he was dead.
The Age of Gods really was brutal.
But Eli was calm. Death wasn't the end—especially not for him.
Silver light streamed from the mirror, wrapping around Eli's form. Knowledge flowed into him—languages, technologies, customs, current events—and his depleted spiritual body was slowly nourished.
Only the living could recover spirituality naturally. For a being like him, born of thought and divinity, he had to rely on others: the spirit world, underworld, or in this case, the magic mirror.
He lifted his nearly transparent right arm and scrolled through Fifth Epoch news headlines.
"Former Archbishop of the Church of the Evernight, Ince Zangwill, defected with Sealed Artifact 0-08..."
Eli's expression twitched.
Did that bastard really live to the Fifth Epoch?
The world order seemed mostly unchanged from what he remembered. Which meant he hadn't left a noticeable mark in the Fourth Epoch.
"I cannot reveal that pen's location," Arrodes warned. "It will know."
Even True Gods had limits. Any question involving Uniqueness or the divine risked backlash or censorship.
"It's fine. I have a guess."
He was beginning to understand: he hadn't failed in the Fourth Epoch—he simply hadn't made waves. But he still retained plot knowledge.
And that was an overwhelming advantage.
"I think it's time to resurrect."
"If I'm dead in the Fifth Epoch, I'll just return."
"Got any recommendations for a vessel?"
He couldn't come up with a good candidate. Perhaps one of the recently deceased scions of nobility?
The mirror paused for a moment, then streamed lists of obscure deaths: young minor nobles, middle-class men, recent casualties in Backlund. Perfect.
One profile stood out.
The second son of Councilor Maynard, a major figure in Tingen City. The mother: daughter of a New Party heavyweight. The older brother: active in Loen politics.
Cause of death: Attempted to imprison a Demoness of Despair in his basement to keep her away from other men. Died horribly.
Eli's eyes narrowed. "Kid, you've got guts. I approve."
He cracked his fingers, spiritual energy now surging. "Let's get there before he's entirely dead."
The silver screen rippled and shifted to a live feed. In a dim, underground cellar, a young man lay twitching, his head stomped under a pale foot. It didn't seem like he'd survive another minute.
"Arrodes, pan up."
The camera view rose, revealing the Demoness. She wore a loose, low-tied robe, her skin glowing faintly under the lamplight. Her posture was languid, teasing. Her hair, half-loosened, draped over her shoulder.
Beside her, silver annotations glowed:
"Despair Nightingale" Panatiya
Sequence 4
Demoness of Despair
Leader of the Demoness Sect's Backlund faction
Eli's lips curved into a smirk.
"So this is my resurrection gate, huh?"