The house was more than Elmont had expected—a sprawling estate with walls weathered by time but sturdy enough to endure another century. It was a gift from the new queen Isabella, a gesture of gratitude for his unwavering loyalty. Though he’d protested the extravagance, the look on her face left no room for argument. So here he was, moving into the echoing halls of his new home, unpacking boxes, and acquainting himself with its peculiarities.

It was on his second day, while poking around the attic, that he found the mirror. Tucked away in a corner beneath a sheet thick with dust, it seemed more a relic of neglect than a piece of intrigue. Its frame was ornate, carved with patterns he didn’t recognize, though its surface had dulled with age. He’d intended to clean it and perhaps move it to one of the empty halls, but other tasks took priority. The mirror remained, half-forgotten and buried under the weight of his growing to-do list.

It wasn’t until late one evening, arms straining with a box destined for storage, that something caught his eye. The attic was dim, the only light coming from the lantern he’d brought with him, but in the mirror’s glass, he saw something—or rather, someone. He froze mid-step, his breath catching as the box slid from his grip with a dull thud.

At first, he thought it a trick of the light, the distorted reflection of his own features. But no—this was a woman, and she was nothing like the women of his time. Her clothing was strange, her posture relaxed yet filled with an energy he couldn’t quite place. Her eyes locked with his, wide with what could only be described as mutual shock.

Elmont stumbled backward, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword before remembering he’d left it downstairs. His heart thundered in his chest as he stared at the mirror, the woman’s form still clear as day, as though she were standing on the other side of a pane of glass.

This wasn’t some old family heirloom. This was something else entirely.