Ren drifted awake to the soft rustle of petals falling onto his chest. For a moment, he didn't know where he was. Warm sunlight filtered through the vast canopy above, casting shifting patterns across the moss and roots tangled around him like living arms.
He shifted, and the memories rushed back — the forest maidens' touch, Queen Elandra's kiss, the whispered promise that had stolen the last of his resistance before sleep claimed him.
His heart thudded dully as he sat up. His shirt hung half-open, collar loose, petals clinging to his skin. He brushed them away with trembling fingers, but the warmth they'd left behind wouldn't fade.
He glanced around — expecting shadows, expectant eyes — but the clearing was empty. No soft laughter, no drifting orbs of light, only the gentle hush of the forest breathing around him.
Was it a dream?
He almost wished it was.
Ren pushed himself to his feet. His knees wobbled as if he'd run for miles. He stumbled forward, catching the rough bark of the elder tree for support. It felt warm under his palm — warm, and somehow alive. He could almost swear he heard a faint echo, like a heartbeat deep within the trunk.
A faint giggle broke the hush.
Ren's head snapped up. From behind a cluster of thick roots, Lyria emerged — barefoot as always, her silvery-green hair crowned with fresh blossoms. Today she wore a different slip of cloth — looser, even more daring, the sheer fabric whispering against her thighs as she moved.
Her eyes sparkled when they met his. "Awake at last, little mirror walker," she purred. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd sleep forever beneath Mother Tree."
Ren's mouth went dry. "Lyria… where is everyone? The Queen? The other… the other maidens?"
Lyria only smiled. She stepped closer, her bare feet brushing through the moss without a sound. She pressed a hand against his chest — right over his frantic heartbeat. "You ask too many questions, Ren. This world is not built for questions. It's built for wanting."
She leaned in, lips grazing the corner of his mouth. He felt the brush of her breath — tasted the sweetness that lingered on her tongue when she whispered. "And you… you want so much, don't you?"
Ren flinched, but his hands found her hips anyway — as if drawn by a force stronger than fear. He felt her warmth through the thin fabric, felt her lean in, felt his pulse pound where her chest brushed his.
"I shouldn't be here," he murmured. "I should go home."
Lyria's laugh was low, wicked and soft. She tilted her head, her lips brushing his ear as she spoke. "But you are home. This forest… this mirror… we are your truth now."
Her fingers slipped down, tracing the edge of his loosened shirt. She tugged it open wider, exposing more of his chest to the morning air. She didn't stop there — her fingers traced patterns along his skin, making him shiver helplessly.
"Last night," she whispered, voice like honey, "was only the beginning, Ren. There are other forests. Other mirrors. Other queens. If you stay… you will taste them all."
She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes — her pupils wide and hungry, her smile curved with mischief and promise. "Or you can run… if you really want to."
Ren's breath caught as her hands slid to his lower back, pulling him flush against her. Her body pressed warm and soft against his, her lips ghosting just above his own.
"But if you stay," she murmured, her voice a spell that twisted around his will, "I'll show you where the forest ends — and the adventure begins."
Before he could answer, her mouth captured his — a kiss that tasted of wild blossoms and dreams that refused to fade. He should have pulled away. He didn't.
Ren's lips still tingled when Lyria broke the kiss. She didn't pull away completely — instead, she pressed her forehead to his, her breath quick and warm, her smile a soft blade that cut through the last scraps of his doubt.
Her fingers found his hand and laced their fingers together. Without a word, she tugged him away from the elder tree's roots — deeper into the hush of the forest.
They passed under ancient boughs draped with flowering vines. Lantern bugs flitted lazily in the dawn light, drifting through shafts of mist that danced between tangled branches. Somewhere above, the distant trill of strange birds mixed with the low hum of life that pulsed through every leaf and stone.
Ren stumbled once over a knotted root. Lyria's laugh slipped back to him, low and musical. "Careful, mirror walker. If you trip here, the forest might decide to keep you in its roots forever."
Ren managed a breathless question. "Where are we going?"
She didn't answer immediately. She only glanced over her shoulder, green-gold eyes glimmering with secrets. "Somewhere the Queen won't follow," she said at last. "Somewhere older than even her whispers."
They emerged into a hollow where the forest floor sank into a wide bowl, overgrown with tangled vines and shards of broken stone. Ruins. Ren's breath caught — massive stone columns lay cracked and half-buried, their surfaces crawling with moss and faintly glowing symbols that pulsed like heartbeat veins under his feet.
At the hollow's center yawned a dark opening — a half-collapsed stone doorway that looked older than the forest itself. Cool air drifted from it, brushing Ren's flushed skin like a ghost's sigh.
Lyria stopped at the edge of the ruin. She turned to him, her grin softening. "Long ago," she murmured, "this was the cradle. Where the first mirror was born. Before there were trees, before there was a Queen, before there were girls like me."
She stepped close, her hands sliding up his arms. "But the cradle doesn't open for just anyone, Ren. It hungers for a taste of innocence. A piece of a heart still trembling on the edge of wanting."
Ren's voice caught. "You want… you want more from me?"
Lyria's laugh was softer this time — sad, almost tender. "I want all of you, little mirror walker. But tonight, I will share."
A new voice slid from the shadows behind the ruin's doorway — velvet-smooth and thick with a darker promise. "You brought me a new seed, Lyria?"
Ren flinched. A figure stepped from the dark — a woman taller than Lyria, draped in a flowing gown of sheer black silk that clung to her curves like smoke. Her hair spilled in waves of ink-black midnight, her eyes deep violet like a storm caught behind glass.
She moved with a predator's grace, bare feet brushing stone without sound. Her lips curved into a smile as she reached out — gloved fingertips grazing Ren's chin as if testing the ripeness of fruit.
"Ren Amakawa," she murmured, tasting his name like wine. "I am Veluria. Keeper of the Broken Cradle. You may think Lyria is temptation made flesh… but what I offer is far sweeter."
Ren tried to pull back, but her touch held him still. Her scent was different from Lyria's wildflowers — it was sharp, spicy, almost intoxicating. His head swam, his skin prickling as her nails traced his throat.
Lyria's voice was a warm breath at his ear. "Trust her, Ren. She will show you truths I am forbidden to tell."
Veluria's smile turned wicked. "But first…" She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. "I will take my toll."
She pressed her mouth to his neck, fangs grazing just enough to draw a gasp — but not pain, only a dizzying rush of heat that raced through him, lighting every hidden desire like dry leaves catching flame.
His knees nearly gave out as her lips left him. Veluria pulled back, licking a drop of warmth from her lips — eyes half-lidded, hunger satisfied for now.
"The cradle will open," she purred. "If he dares step inside."
She turned, gliding back toward the ruin's mouth, every step a promise of secrets and sins waiting in the dark.
Lyria's fingers squeezed his. "Will you come, Ren? The deeper you go… the less of the boy you'll ever be again."
Ren's breath trembled — but he stepped forward anyway.
The mouth of the ruin swallowed all sound. One moment, Ren stepped from soft moss and drifting petals — the next, the forest's hush gave way to a deeper silence that pressed against his ears like a heartbeat trapped in stone.
Veluria drifted ahead of him, her midnight hair and sheer silk trailing behind like living shadows. Lyria stayed at his side, her fingers still tangled with his, anchoring him as he stumbled down the ancient steps.
The air grew colder the deeper they went — damp, tinged with the faint scent of old stone and something sweeter beneath it. A faint glow pulsed along the cracked walls — veins of crystal that flickered in time with Ren's breath.
At the base of the steps, the passage opened into a vast chamber. Ren's eyes widened — the space was circular, ringed with broken pillars, the floor carved in spiraling runes that shimmered like moonlight trapped under glass.
In the chamber's center lay the cradle: a massive stone basin cracked down the middle, brimming with liquid silver that rippled as if alive. Faint shapes moved beneath its surface — flickers of mirrors within mirrors, glimpses of forests, cities, distant stars.
Veluria turned, her smile sharp as moonlit glass. "This is where the first mirror was birthed — a gate between wanting and having, innocence and ruin."
She stepped to the basin's edge and beckoned him closer. Ren's feet moved before his mind caught up — every part of him pulled by the shifting silver, its surface reflecting him… and something else. In the ripples, he glimpsed flashes of himself — older, crowned, bound in silken chains, eyes dark with power and hunger.
Lyria's breath was warm at his neck. "What you see is what could be — if you drink deeply enough."
Ren's voice trembled. "What is it?"
Veluria's gloved hand brushed his cheek. "A mirror's seed. It opens your flesh, your thoughts, your desires — lets the cradle taste your truth." She dipped her fingers into the silver, drew them out dripping with light, and lifted them to his lips. "Drink."
Ren flinched — but Lyria's arms circled his waist from behind, holding him still. Her lips grazed his ear. "Let it in. Let it change you."
Veluria pressed her silver-tipped fingers against his mouth. The liquid was cool, but as it touched his tongue it seared heat through him — a pulse that raced down his throat and settled low in his belly like a brand.
He gasped — but Veluria leaned in, catching the sound with her mouth. Her kiss was deeper than Lyria's, darker, tasting of forbidden sweetness and metal and stars. Her tongue slid past his lips, stealing the last of the liquid in a slow, hungry pull that left him dizzy.
When she pulled back, her eyes gleamed with a satisfaction that made his knees buckle. "Good boy," she whispered. "Now… give the cradle what it wants in return."
Lyria's hand slipped under his shirt — warm palms sliding over his chest, down his trembling stomach. "Let it see your truth," she murmured. "Let it taste your want."
Veluria pressed her palm to the center of his chest. The runes on the floor flared, echoing the frantic thrum of his heart. The silver in the basin shivered, shapes flickering faster: the forest, the succubus castle, cities of glass, dark thrones, queens draped over him like silk.
Ren's mind swam. Lyria's breath was at his throat. Veluria's lips brushed his ear. Every touch pulled him further from the boy who'd stepped through the attic mirror.
"Deeper…" Veluria's voice was a chant. "Show it all…"
Heat surged through him — and for a moment he felt the cradle inside him, tasting every hidden fantasy, every forbidden ache he'd buried under lonely nights and unspoken dreams.
The silver flared — a pulse that echoed in his bones. He felt something slip — like a door swinging wide inside his chest.
And when it was done, he was gasping in Lyria's arms, his knees pressing into the cold stone, sweat dripping down his neck. The basin's surface stilled — no longer a mirror, but a doorway.
Veluria knelt before him, her smile soft and victorious. She brushed her lips against his sweat-damp brow. "You've given the cradle your first piece, Ren Amakawa."
She traced a single finger down his throat, lingering where his pulse thundered. "Next time… you'll give it more."
Behind him, Lyria's lips curved against his ear — a whisper, sweet and cruel. "And next time… it won't be just your secrets it drinks."