Ren Amakawa sat alone in his dimly lit room, knees hugged to his chest as rain tapped softly against the window. The faint glow of his desk lamp cast long shadows on the walls, making the small space feel even emptier than usual.
He was eighteen now — a legal adult by the world's standards — but he hardly felt like one. School had ended months ago, yet his life had barely begun. No friends. No girlfriend. Just the quiet hum of an old computer and the muffled echo of rain that always seemed to find him, no matter the season.
It was on nights like this that he felt the pull — the strange itch to climb up into the dusty attic above his room. He didn't know why. Maybe it was the silence. Or the memories that lingered in the house his parents had left behind when they'd passed away.
He pushed himself up, barefoot on creaking floorboards. The ladder to the attic groaned under his weight. Cobwebs brushed his arms as he stepped inside, the stale air prickling his skin.
Ren's flashlight beam swept across old boxes, forgotten photo albums, stacks of yellowed newspapers. Then it caught something else — a tall shape hidden under a moth-eaten cloth in the far corner. He'd seen it before, just once. A full-length standing mirror, rimmed with an ornate silver frame carved with twisting vines and strange symbols he couldn't read.
He pulled the cloth off. The mirror was perfectly clean, impossibly so — as if it had been waiting for him.
Ren stared at his reflection. Pale skin, dark hair slightly tousled, brown eyes wide behind thin glasses. He looked so small in that mirror. So breakable.
But then he noticed something odd — a shimmer. Behind his reflection, faint but clear: a garden. Lush and green, with hanging flowers he didn't recognize. Mist floated just beyond the glass, swirling in slow spirals.
He leaned closer. The reflection flickered — his plain bedroom gone, replaced entirely by the garden. He could almost feel the damp, fragrant air through the glass.
His breath caught. He reached out. The tip of his finger brushed the mirror's surface — but instead of cold glass, there was a soft, warm resistance, like dipping his hand into water.
Startled, Ren pulled back — but the mirror pulsed, rippling outward. Light spilled across the attic like liquid silver.
Before he could move, the mirror pulled him forward. His body felt weightless — falling and floating all at once. The attic dissolved behind him, swallowed by a swirling, soundless void.
And just like that, Ren Amakawa — the boy who had never kissed a girl, never dreamed of adventure — vanished into the glass.
Warmth. Soft earth under his palms. The scent of wildflowers and damp moss filling his lungs.
Ren opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the dappled sunlight that filtered through a canopy of broad, emerald leaves. He was lying in a forest clearing, surrounded by trees that looked far too tall to be real — their trunks twisting skyward, branches heavy with blossoms that glowed faintly in the shade.
For a moment, he simply lay there, listening. A distant birdsong drifted through the warm air. Somewhere nearby, water trickled over stones, the gentle rush blending with the soft sigh of leaves.
Ren pushed himself up onto his elbows. His clothes — a simple T-shirt and pajama pants — were speckled with bits of grass and petals. He looked behind him. No attic. No mirror. Just a faint shimmer in the air where he'd fallen through — like a ripple on a pond's surface. But even as he reached out, the shimmer vanished, leaving only forest.
This can't be real.
He rose to his feet, legs trembling. His heart hammered in his chest as he turned in slow circles, trying to take it all in. The colors were too vivid. The air tasted sweet, like nectar. It was like stepping into a dream painted by a mind far more vivid than his own.
A flicker of movement made him freeze. There, just beyond a curtain of flowering vines, someone — no, something — was watching him.
He swallowed, forcing himself to speak. "Hello…?" His voice sounded small in the vast green hush.
The vines parted. Out stepped a girl — or at least, she looked like one. Barefoot on the soft moss, she moved with an almost unnatural grace, like a swan gliding across a still lake.
Her hair fell in loose waves of silvery green, framing a face too beautiful to be real — delicate features, pointed ears poking through her hair, eyes the color of spring leaves glistening after rain. Her skin was pale, faintly glowing where sunlight touched it. She wore a simple slip of cloth — almost a dress, almost not — that clung to her curves and left too much of her thighs and shoulders bare.
She smiled — a smile that made Ren's chest tighten painfully. He stumbled back, but she stepped closer, barefoot on the moss. Flowers bloomed in her wake.
"You're awake," she said, voice like wind through leaves. She cocked her head, studying him with an amused, hungry curiosity. "That's good. It would be such a shame if my first guest missed the beauty of this place."
Ren opened his mouth, but no words came. The girl tilted her head again, and the tips of her pointed ears twitched.
"Your heart's beating so fast," she teased. She lifted a hand — slender fingers tipped with nails that looked like polished ivory — and touched the center of his chest. Her skin was warm, almost too warm.
Ren flinched. His breath caught when she leaned in, her lips a whisper from his ear.
"Don't be afraid," she murmured. "You crossed the mirror, didn't you? That means you belong to this forest now. You belong… to me."
Her hand slid up to his jaw, cupping his cheek. She smelled of wildflowers and rain. Too close — far too close.
Ren's mind reeled. He should have pushed her away — run, screamed, something — but his body stayed frozen, heart pounding under her touch.
She pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. Her smile curved, equal parts sweetness and mischief. "My name is Lyria," she breathed. "And you, little human… are going to make this world very, very happy."
Ren's heart thudded like a drum as Lyria's fingers trailed from his cheek down to his collarbone. Her touch was feather-light, leaving warmth in its wake that made his skin tingle.
She tilted her head, watching him with eyes that seemed to glow brighter the more flustered he became. "You're trembling," she teased softly, her lips so close he could feel the brush of her breath. "Is my forest too frightening for you… or am I the frightening part?"
Ren's throat bobbed. He tried to answer, but his voice cracked into silence. He couldn't look away from her eyes — the way they seemed to pull him in, promising danger wrapped in sweetness.
A low laugh bubbled from her lips. She drew back a step, her fingers slipping from his chest. "Come, little mirror walker. You shouldn't stand here alone. There are things in these woods far less gentle than me."
She turned, the sheer slip of her dress whispering against her thighs as she moved. Barefoot, she glided through the thick carpet of moss and flowering vines. Ren's eyes caught on the curve of her hips, the way her silver-green hair swayed like silk. He tore his gaze away, cheeks burning.
"Wait…!" he called, stumbling forward. He didn't want to be alone — not here, not in a place that felt stitched together from dreams and nightmares.
Lyria looked over her shoulder, her smile lazy and knowing. "Then stay close. The forest listens to me. If you stray too far, it might decide to keep you for itself."
Ren hesitated only a moment before following her deeper into the woods.
The trees seemed to part for Lyria, revealing a narrow path lined with blossoms that glowed faintly in the dusk. Strange flowers brushed Ren's arms, slick with dew that shimmered like moonlight. He heard faint laughter in the distance — soft voices that might have belonged to other spirits, or maybe just the wind playing tricks on him.
Lyria hummed as she led him along, her voice weaving through the hush of the forest. "It's been so long since someone crossed the mirror. Do you know how rare you are, Ren Amakawa?"
Hearing his name slip from her lips sent a shiver down his spine. "H-how do you know my name?"
She glanced back, amusement dancing in her eyes. "The mirror knows all things about those who gaze into it. Especially the ones with hearts as… pure… as yours."
She stopped abruptly. Ren nearly collided with her, his hands brushing her bare shoulders as he caught himself. The heat of her skin burned through him — she made no move to step away.
She turned slowly, trapping him with her gaze. Her fingers rose to brush his cheek again, then drifted lower, tracing the line of his throat, pausing where his pulse thundered.
"You're so warm…" she whispered. "So alive. Do you know what this place feeds on, Ren?"
He shook his head, mouth dry.
Lyria's smile turned wicked, lips parting to reveal the faint tips of small, sharp canines. Her other hand lifted — sliding under his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes.
"It feeds on longing. Desire. The ache you carry but never share. Every secret wish. Every forbidden thought. This forest… I… we live to taste what you try to hide."
Ren's breath caught when her fingers trailed down, brushing the edge of his collar. He felt his body betray him — a heat coiling low in his belly, his skin prickling under her touch.
Lyria leaned in, her lips grazing his ear, her whisper sending sparks across his skin. "Would you like a taste, Ren? Just a small one… before you wake up and pretend to be pure again?"
Her words tangled in his mind. He should pull away. He should say no. But when her lips brushed his neck, so soft yet electric, all he could do was gasp.
A single, wicked kiss. The forest seemed to sigh — leaves rustling, flowers opening wider in the moonlight that began to filter through the canopy.
And deep in his chest, Ren felt something shift — a hunger awakening where innocence had once kept him safe.