Whispers of the Unburied

Part 1: The Mirror That Lied

Aedric did not move. He barely breathed. His reflection stood before him, unwavering, unchanged, and yet—it was not his own.

The man in the mirror bore his face, his stance, even the faint tension in his shoulders, but there was something wrong. His eyes, dark and hollow, seemed to stretch too deep into his skull, like a void swallowing light. The longer Aedric stared, the more certain he became that this thing was staring back, not as a reflection, but as something separate.

Aedric turned, expecting to see the figure beside him in the dim lantern glow. But there was nothing.

Yet in the mirror, his doppelgänger did not look away. Instead, it did something worse.

It smiled.

A cold, slow curling of the lips. A movement that did not belong to Aedric.

His stomach twisted. He stepped back, but the mirror image did not follow. It remained, frozen in that eerie expression, the corners of its mouth stretching just a fraction too wide.

Then, its lips parted.

"I have waited," it whispered. "For you to remember."

The voice was his own, yet it carried a weight that did not belong to him, a resonance that dug into his bones like a forgotten truth clawing its way back to the surface.

Aedric clenched his fists. "Who are you?"

The mirror darkened, as if something unseen had smudged the glass from within. The smile faded. The reflection's mouth moved, but no words came at first—only a soft, hollow exhale, like breath against cold steel.

Then, finally, it spoke.

"I am you. The first. The last. The one who never left."

Aedric felt the weight of those words press against his chest, an unseen force wrapping around his ribs. His mind recoiled, screaming that it was a lie, that it could not be, that this was a trick—

And yet, somewhere deep within, he knew.

Knew that this was not the first time he had stood here.

Not the first time he had seen this reflection.

Not the first time he had forgotten.

Part 2: The Door Without a Key

Aedric tore his gaze away from the mirror, breath coming fast and shallow. The weight of the words hung in the air, pressing down on his chest like unseen hands. He needed to move. He needed to leave.

The walls of the inn seemed closer than before, their warped wooden frames groaning under a weight that was not there. The air thickened, suffocating, thick with dust and something else—something watching.

He turned toward the door, his fingers wrapping around the iron handle. It rattled but did not yield. Locked.

Aedric exhaled sharply. He had not locked it when he entered.

Above him, the floor creaked. Not the random shifting of an old structure settling into place, but deliberate. Measured. A slow, dragging step. Then another.

Aedric's grip tightened on the handle. He pulled again, harder this time, but the door remained unmoving. He swallowed down the rising panic, forcing himself to think. There had to be another way out. A window, a back entrance—anything.

Then, his eyes landed on the far end of the room. A door.

It had not been there before.

Aedric froze. Unlike the rest of the inn, aged and crumbling, this door was untouched by time. The wood was smooth, unblemished, its deep black surface absorbing the dim light rather than reflecting it. There was no dust on its frame, no rust on its hinges. It stood waiting, as if it had been placed there for him alone.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Everything in him screamed against it. This was wrong. This was a trap.

A gust of air brushed against his neck, ice-cold. Aedric did not turn.

The footsteps on the stairs had stopped. The silence stretched, humming with the unspoken presence of something that had never left.

Then, the whispers returned.

They curled around his ears, featherlight yet suffocating, threading through his thoughts like fingers through silk. They spoke in a language he could not understand, yet somehow knew. A shudder crept down his spine as his body acted of its own accord, his feet shifting, moving closer to the unnatural door.

He did not want to open it. But he knew he would.

Behind him, the mirror trembled, the glass rattling as if something inside it was pressing to be let out. The air shuddered. The walls groaned. The locked door behind him pulsed with an unseen force.

Aedric reached for the handle.

It was warm to the touch.