White.
Everything was white.
In a place where no darkness could exist, a youth stood, looking at his reflection in a mirror. He had silky, shoulder-length silvery white hair, which was whiter than snow itself. A pair of deep violet eyes stared back at him from inside the mirror. But the reflection showed a more mature version of himself.
This strange dream again. It's been a long time since I got this dream, and now, I've come here again. He thought inwardly.
Looking around, he began to walk away from the mirror. Everything was white. No ceiling. No walls. No window. Nothing, just a mirror.
He walked for minutes, hours yet, as if it was a loop, the mirror remained there.
This mirror…it's probably the key to exit here.
He walked towards the mirror again. He always refused to look at his reflection in this particular mirror. It showed an older version of him, which made him terrified for no reason. He couldn't look at his eyes for more than ten seconds. Instead, he looked at its frame.
He traced the light brown frame with his fingers, looking for some trigger.
But no matter how he tried, he couldn't find anything.
"Just how am I supposed to exit this place? It's creepy." He wondered, a little scared.
Then, almost as if responding to his touch, countless purple dots began to appear along the frame. They grew larger and, one by one, blossomed like flowers, revealing exquisite purple roses. Their delicate petals shimmered with an otherworldly beauty, resembling the cosmos itself.
"…Beautiful," the youth murmured under his breath unconsciously.
Yet, a faint unease was within him.
But that was not the end.
Moments later, purple flames began to materialize around the roses. They spread along the frame, covering the whole frame, but strangely, the frame did not burn.
The boy stepped back cautiously, frowning.
What is this? These flames… they're dangerous. They're meddling with my mind.
A shiver ran down his spine as he realized the flames were subtly influencing his thoughts.
And still, they didn't stop.
To his horror, the flames began to spread outward, engulfing the entire area, except for the narrow space where he stood. A safe circle formed around him, though it was shrinking with each passing second.
Through the swirling fire, he could still see the cosmic petals glowing faintly.
Then came the pressure.
A crushing force descended all at once, doubling the gravity and making him fall on his knees. His heart pounded violently in his chest.
W-What's happening?
He tried to move, to flee, but the flames surrounded him, cutting off every path.
His breath caught in his throat. He was trapped. Haah...
The flames closed in from all sides, their violet glow painting the world in purple.
Just before the flames closed in, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror—and froze.
A cold shiver ran down his spine.
Staring back at him was a pair of deep, merciless purple eyes, eyes that looked down him as if he was nothing more than an insect.
He couldn't look away.
Those eyes held a depth that didn't belong to him. They weren't filled with fear or confusion like his own, but with a calm and coldness… as if they already knew how this would end.
The mirror rippled.
His reflection moved, but he didn't.
It tilted its head slowly, studying him with an expression that was between hatred and contempt.
The only sound he could hear was the pounding of his heart and the soft and distorted echo of his own voice coming from the mirror.
"Don't… go…"
The reflection's lips moved, but he couldn't understand what it was saying completely.
A sudden pressure seized his chest. The circle of safety narrowed even more, now barely a step wide.
The reflection looked around.
It raised a hand and tapped the inside of the mirror, as if knocking on glass from the other side.
Tap. Tap.
The mirror cracked.
It didn't shatter, only a single, fine crack appeared across the glass.
The boy stumbled backwards, his breath ragged. The flames were now at the edge of the circle, their heat real and sharp. He looked down for an escape, but there was none.
The reflection stepped closer to the mirror's surface, those violet eyes glowing brighter. The cracks on the glass deepened, webbing outward like veins.
Then, the circle of safety vanished.
The flames surged with a roar and swallowed him whole.
He screamed, but no sound came out of his mouth.
His vision turned black.
Then—
Gasp.
He jolted awake, gasping for air.
His chest rose and fell rapidly, sweat covering his body. His hair was damp and his nightclothes were soaked.
His hands were shaking. He ran one through his hair.
That dream again... I'm sick of it.
It had been years since the last one. He'd almost convinced himself it was gone. But now it was back again and this time, it was worse.
The mirror. The reflection. The voice. The crack. These all were new. Before, there was just a white void, nothing else. That was still terrible, but compared to his reflection… it was nothing.
That reflection…it was without a doubt me, my older version. Is that me in the future?
He lowered his head into his hands, breathing slow and shallow. He could still feel the heat of the flames, even though the room was cool.
It was just a dream…I just hope I don't go there again.
He looked toward the balcony. The curtains were moving gently in the breeze. Moonlight spilled across the marble floor beautifully. Everything was quiet.
He pushed off the blanket and stood up. His clothes clung to him uncomfortably. He stripped the shirt off and grabbed a white robe from the nearby chair, throwing it over his shoulders without bothering to tie it properly.
He walked toward the balcony and stepped outside.
The night air was cool against his skin. The moon hung high, casting light over the estate. He leaned on the railing, staring at the distant treetops.
Below, the vast garden stretched out beautifully, a tapestry of flowers in every imaginable colour. Tall trees stood. Bathed in moonlight, the entire scene shimmered with an ethereal glow.
"I guess I need to get some fresh air to calm down."
He stepped out of his room.
The interior of the mansion was magnificent. Tall ivory walls adorned with strange carvings rose around him, and a high ceiling loomed overhead, from which an otherworldly lustre hung. Portraits of former heads of the family lined the walls. Grand halls stretched in every direction, each designed for a different occasion.
It was exactly the kind of splendour one would expect from a Grand Duke's estate.
As soon as he stepped outside, the scent of flowers washed over him like a wave, drawing a satisfied smile to his lips.
"As beautiful as ever." he smiled.
He walked through the vast garden, letting his fingers brush gently against the petals as he passed.
Eventually, he stopped before a particular tree in a quiet corner of the expansive grounds.
It stood impossibly tall. Its stretched branches cast a wide shadow beneath it.
The tree's crimson leaves shimmered in the silver light.
This was the place where Vesper and his older sister used to play.
He sat down and leaned against the tree.
Tomorrow was the start of something that would shape everything.
He exhaled slowly.
Sword arts.
I've gone through the scrolls. Sat through the lessons. Watched the older students spar more times than I can count. I know the basic shapes of each style. How Wind Form flows, how Echo Style strikes in rhythm, how Avalanche Blade throws its weight forward.
But even with all that, I still don't know what suits me. I know my style but I don't know what I should choose.
I haven't figured it out yet. And I guess that's the part that makes me hesitate.
He didn't know what Sword Art he must choose. And that bothered him more than he admitted.
His father always said that choosing a sword art wasn't about picking the strongest one, but about recognizing your nature. A style that didn't match the person would eventually betray them.
He sighed and tilted his head back again. I really don't know.
Above, a single branch curved like a bridge, a familiar spot. He and his sister used to climb to that branch and sit for hours, pretending they ruled over a hidden kingdom.
He smiled faintly at the memory.
She'd always been braver. She didn't hesitate. She didn't second-guess. When she chose her sword art, it was as if she had already known it was hers before she even saw the scroll.
He envied that.
But she also told him something once.
"You don't need to rush. Not everyone's meant to run forward. Some people are meant to walk slowly… and see what others miss."
He hadn't understood what she meant back then.
Maybe now he was starting to.
"What are you doing here at this hour?"