Page 13 of Aries

Aries’ reflection shows surprise that matches my own. The Mirror is sentient? No one mentioned that particular detail.

“Fine.” Frustration makes me bolder. “I’m terrified of failing these trials because I couldn’t bear watching you die, knowing I might have prevented it.”

The Mirror hums with approval. Aries’ pupils dilate slightly, but he maintains eye contact as required.

“Your turn,” I prompt when he remains silent.

“I’m angry,” he starts, then quickly amends as the Mirror starts to protest, “I’m angry that you’re trapped in this situation because of my past mistakes. That you felt obligated to offer this sacrifice.”

“Truth accepted,” the Mirror intones. “Continue the exchange.”

The admission hangs between us, making the next truth harder to voice. “I don’t feel trapped,” I say softly. “I feel… confused. Because parts of this—parts of our morning ritual—felt…”

“Felt?” he prompts when I hesitate.

“Natural,” I finish. “Like maybe we’ve been doing everything wrong these past five years.”

The Mirror’s approving noise is almost smug. Aries’ reflection shows something raw and vulnerable before he masks it.

“I dream about the cell,” he says abruptly. “Not the bad parts, but… but the moments before. Before I…”

The Mirror’s gilded frame vibrates expectantly, demanding more.

“Before I built the walls,” he continues roughly. “When I still let myself feel…”

“Feel what?” The words slip out before I can stop them.

His eyes close briefly—a violation of the ritual that makes the Mirror hum in warning. When they open, there’s something almost desperate in them.

“Hope,” he grits out. “I let myself feel hope. That maybe, despite the horrible circumstances, we might…”

The Mirror accepts this truth, saving him from finishing the thought. My turn again, and my heart pounds so hard I’m sure he must hear it.

“Sometimes I resent you,” I say, watching his reflection flinch. “Not for withdrawing—I understood that. We were all traumatized, all coping however we could. I hate you for maintaining the distance even after we were free. For making me feel like those weeks in the cell showed you deep parts of me, and you rejected what I revealed.”

“Truth deeply given,” the Mirror announces, sounding pleased. “Final exchange.”

Aries’ hands clench where they rest on his thighs. “I never hated you,” he says, voice raw. “I hated myself. For being weak enough to let our masters put you in that position. For not finding another way. For wanting you even after I promised myself I wouldn’t…”

The Mirror thrums with satisfaction, but I barely notice. “Want me?”

“Ritual complete,” it announces with satisfaction, then goes silent.

We sit there, still watching each other’s reflection, the weight of our revelations settling around us. The muscle inhis cheek is vibrating nonstop as the late afternoon light paints everything in shades of gold and shadow, making the moment feel somehow separate from reality.

“Aries…” I turn toward him, but he stands abruptly.

“We should prepare for evening meditation,” he says stiffly.

“Aries, stop.” I stop myself from trying to catch his arm as he tries to retreat. “You can’t just confess something like that and then pretend it was nothing.”

“It was part of the ritual.” His walls are visibly rebuilding right in front of my eyes. “Nothing more.”

“The Mirror requires truth,” I remind him. “You can’t lie during the ritual.”

“Truth is complicated,” he says, not meeting my eyes now that the Mirror’s compulsion is lifted. “What I felt then… it doesn’t matter now.”

“Doesn’t it?” Taking a step closer, I watch him tense. “Because this morning, when you were brushing my hair, it seemed like maybe…”

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