The key didn't leave his hand for three days.
Vorn didn't sleep during that time.
He tried.
But every time he closed his eyes, the world kept going.
The walls of the apartment would breathe. The hallway light turned red and stayed that way for hours. The neighbors stopped making noise, as if they'd disappeared—or never existed.
And then there was the whispering.
Not words. Not really.
Just… rhythm. Like someone was speaking behind a thick wall, and the only thing coming through was the shape of the sentence, not the meaning.
But Vorn understood one thing.
It wasn't the mirror anymore.
It was the key.
---
He tried locking it in a drawer.
The drawer wouldn't close.
He wrapped it in a towel, shoved it in a cupboard.
It moved.
Each time he tried to ignore it, his thoughts would bend. Images in his mind would distort—long fingers where hands should be, broken clocks ticking backward, Mira's voice asking him why soup burned in water.
It wasn't madness.
It was the beginning of seeing.
He stopped using his phone. Stopped checking the time.
Every device began to flicker with unfamiliar symbols. A pulsing square with two lines crossed through it. A spiral inside a cracked triangle.
Once, his phone buzzed for three seconds. Just long enough for a message to appear:
> "Spectra acknowledges Seal Two. Reflection activated."
Then it died.
---
On the fourth day, it happened.
The sky outside went dark.
Not night—just black. Like someone had turned the sky off.
Vorn stood at the window and watched the street. People looked up. Some walked faster. Some stood still.
No one screamed.
That scared him more.
It wasn't panic. It was recognition.
As if something forgotten had returned.
And he… could feel it too.
He turned from the window and stared at the key.
It pulsed. A low, slow throb beneath his skin.
And in that moment, his body remembered something his mind had not been told.
A word.
Spectra.
It entered him like a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
His fingers shook.
He stumbled to the wall, steadied himself.
And then—
The world split.
Not like glass. Not like mirrors.
More like a page, turned slowly.
And beneath the page… was color.
But not normal color. Not something the eye could name.
It felt like emotion. Like memory. Like laws rewritten.
A symbol appeared faintly on the wall before him.
Small. Faint. Moving, but not moving.
He didn't know what it meant.
But his voice whispered before he could stop it:
> "Spectra Law One: Nothing reflects without being seen."
Then silence.
Not from the world.
From inside.
As if the voice had used up something valuable just by speaking.
---
He turned to the mirror.
This time, it didn't wait.
It called.
The surface shimmered faintly, but no reflection appeared. Only the darkness behind it.
Then—movement.
A figure.
Too tall. Too still.
Draped in something that didn't fold like cloth.
It didn't come through. It didn't speak.
But it looked at him.
And in that single glance, Vorn saw something buried.
Other Seals. Other people. Other thresholds.
He wasn't the only one.
And maybe… he never had been.
He staggered back, breath sharp.
His eyes burned. Not from pain. From recognition.
In the center of his right eye, for the briefest moment, he saw it:
A faint ring of light.
Not a new Seal.
A mark of something else.
Spectra Awakened.
---
That night, the apartment returned to quiet. But not peace.
The floor creaked with steps he didn't take. A kettle boiled without heat. Outside the window, a train passed—a train that didn't exist on any route.
He sat at the table, the key resting before him.
Then something new appeared.
A page. Old, yellowed. Not paper. Something older. Worn with symbols in the same shade as his eye.
It read:
> "To reflect a world, you must first be erased from it." "This is the path of Threshold. Walk, or turn back." – Null
He didn't know what Null was. But it knew him.
And that was enough.
He placed the key beside the page.
Together, they pulsed.
A soft rhythm. Like a heartbeat waiting for an answer.
He closed his eyes. And listened.