Circle Of Twelve

Chapter 7: "Rounding Up The Guardians"

No One's POV

Cyrus sat at his desk, staring at the polished surface of the small, ornate mirror in front of him. The mirror gleamed under the soft glow of his desk lamp, its surface rippling like a still pool of water. It was a beautiful artifact, no doubt, with its intricate silver frame and delicate carvings. But despite everything that had happened over the last few days, Cyrus couldn’t bring himself to believe that magic was real.

"There's no way," he muttered to himself, leaning back in his chair. "This has to be some kind of joke."

He picked up the mirror again, turning it over in his hands. The weight of it felt strange—heavier than it looked, as though it was holding something more than just his reflection. But every time he tried to test it, to do something magical, nothing happened.

It had all started a few days ago, when he'd discovered the mirror hidden in a dusty attic, far away from where he’d ever expected to find anything of importance. There had been no grand moment of realization, no sudden epiphany that this was his destiny. It was just... there. He didn’t feel special. Not like the others must have felt when they discovered their magical items. He wasn’t a "Guardian" like Ethan or the others Astria had talked about.

Magic isn’t real. It just can’t be.

He placed the mirror down and rubbed his temples, trying to shake off the feeling of disbelief. All the talk of magic and the "Circle of Twelve" seemed too fantastical, too unreal. And yet, the moment he touched the Mirror of Reflection, he felt it. Something deep, stirring within him. A connection to something far greater than himself.

"Fine," Cyrus said, standing up abruptly. "Let’s try this one more time."

He held the mirror up in front of him and stared into it, expecting to see nothing but his own tired reflection. But this time, something felt different. The air around him seemed to hum, a low vibration that made the hairs on his arms stand on end.

“Show me something,” he whispered, his heart pounding as if the mirror could somehow respond.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, slowly, the surface of the mirror began to ripple, like water disturbed by a pebble. Cyrus’s reflection distorted and warped until the familiar face looking back at him was replaced by something else—someone else.

It was him... but not. The version of Cyrus staring back was older, more confident, dressed in armor that shimmered under an unseen light. His eyes, sharper and wiser, seemed to hold secrets that Cyrus couldn’t begin to understand. The reflection lifted a hand, holding a sword that glowed with a soft blue light.

"What the—" Cyrus stumbled back, dropping the mirror onto the desk. His heart raced, his mind struggling to make sense of what he’d just seen.

He looked down at the mirror again, half-expecting it to return to normal, to show nothing but his pale face and confused expression. But the image remained—the older version of himself, now smiling ever so slightly.

This can’t be real. This is impossible.

Cyrus reached out and touched the mirror again, hesitantly. The reflection moved with him, but there was something more—a connection. As if the reflection wasn’t just a mirror image, but a version of himself from another time or place. The sword he held shimmered with magic, a promise of power and potential.

“Who… are you?” Cyrus whispered, his voice trembling.

The reflection didn’t speak, but the answer seemed to resonate deep within his soul. This was him, the Cyrus he could become. The Cyrus that would wield magic, fight alongside the other Guardians, and face the dangers that threatened the world.