Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 258

Chapter 258: A New Direction (22)

A week after her descent into the Starlight Archive, Miraen stood before the High Conclave of Elders in the Hall of Echoes, a circular chamber carved into the bones of a fallen celestial wyrm. Her voice was steady as she addressed the gathered mages, warlords, seers, and keepers of forgotten knowledge.

“We face not merely unrest from within,” she said, “but a threat from beyond. A realm that mirrors our own, where the light has been extinguished. The writings speak of Elydrith—Rohzivaan’s twin, lost to time, now stirring.”

Many of the council wore expressions of disbelief. Others exchanged wary glances.

Old Seer Halemar, bent with age and crowned with a halo of starlight, spoke first. “There are always rumors. Phantom threats. Mirror realms. Dreams mean little without proof.”

Miraen held up the Lexicon of Reversal. “This is the proof. A chronicle of that realm. And it speaks of a convergence. If we do nothing, the veil will break.”

Lord Theren of the Iron Order, known for his pragmatism, frowned. “And what do you propose, Balancekeeper?”

Miraen looked around the chamber.

“I will journey to the ancient sanctums. One in each realm. The last places where the veil was once held strongest. I will reawaken the Pillars of Binding and call upon the last guardians of flame and void. I cannot do it alone.”

Silence hung.

Then a voice rang clear from the shadows near the chamber’s edge.

“You won’t be alone.”

Elyon Thorne stepped forward, bow drawn across his back, defiance lighting his eyes.

“I told you once I’d follow you to the end. Even if that end is sideways through reality.”

Miraen smiled faintly.

Seer Halemar sighed. “Madness. But necessary madness, perhaps. Very well. We will approve the journey. On one condition.”

“What?” Miraen asked.

“You must bring her with you.”

“Her?”

“The daughter of the Vanished Star.”

Miraen stilled.

He meant Aeliana Bloodstone.

The last descendant of Tereza Celestara, bearer of celestial fire, once sealed away by the Bloodstone royal line. Aeliana had disappeared years ago—vanished from court after a failed rebellion in the Eastern Reach. Rumors claimed she was dead. Others said she had fled into the void itself.

“She’s not in this world anymore,” Miraen said carefully.

Seer Halemar nodded. “Then find the world where she is. And bring her back.”

⟡

Two days later, Miraen, Elyon, and a small crew of chosen companions prepared for the journey. Their destination: the first of the four Pillars—the Temple of Cinderguard, hidden in the Ashen Mountains of Varnhold, long abandoned, cursed by lingering voidblight.

Among the party were:

Korrin Duskfang, a Varnish bloodmage bound by oath and guilt to Miraen’s cause.

Sister Lira, a flameborn cleric with visions of other worlds.

Jax of the Hollow Wind, a former thief with the uncanny ability to walk between shadows and slip into dreams.

They departed under cover of twilight, riding skywings over the vast plains. Miraen rode a silver-backed wyrlet, a creature that once served in the Flame Wars, its scales laced with magic and memory.

As the wind whipped past her, she felt the shifting beneath the sky—a subtle pull, like two magnets slowly aligning.

The veil was weakening.

They arrived at the Ashen Mountains after five days of travel. The slopes were jagged with black rock, steaming with remnants of deep-earth fire. At night, the air shimmered with pale green wisps—echoes of the voidblight that once devoured the land.

At the base of the highest peak stood the Temple of Cinderguard.

Or what remained of it.

It was not stone that held it up, but bones—massive skeletal columns fused with obsidian, forming an ancient, angular cathedral. Within, firelight flickered from braziers that no one had lit in centuries.

As they stepped inside, the air grew heavy. Time slowed. Each breath was a whisper of something ancient.

“This place doesn’t like us,” Jax muttered.

“It doesn’t like anything living,” Sister Lira replied. “This is where the flame tried to die.”

Miraen led them toward the sanctum, guided by the pull in her blood.

She remembered coming here as a child—just once—before the temple was sealed. She remembered the voice she heard then, whispering not in words but in symbols that etched themselves into her bones.

Now, as she reached the central chamber, the same voice returned.

Awaken us.

Guardians forgotten stood on either side of the chamber—statues of stone and bone, bearing weapons forged of fireglass and embersteel.

At the center of the sanctum, a pedestal awaited. Upon it, a basin filled with star-ash.

Miraen stepped forward and cut her palm with the Flamepiercer. Her blood dripped into the ash, and for a moment—nothing happened.

Then the entire temple shook.

The ash ignited.

The guardians stirred.

A voice filled the space.

“Balancekeeper.”

It came not from the guardians.

But from the veil itself.

“You bear the mark of two. But another bears the mirror.”

Miraen’s heart thundered.

Elydrith.

The vision took her—violent and sudden.

She saw a world bathed in black sun.

She saw herself—or someone wearing her face—standing at the edge of a cliff, holding a child wreathed in voidflame.

She heard a lullaby in reverse.

And then she was back, gasping, clutching Elyon’s arm.

“They’re already moving,” she said. “We’re late.”

“No,” Elyon said. “You’re just in time. Because that”—he pointed behind her—”wasn’t there a moment ago.”

Miraen turned.

A portal had opened.

Not like those formed by spells.

This one was jagged, raw. A tear in the world.

And beyond it… trees of glass, sky of violet fire.

The mirrored realm.

The first gate had opened.

And they had no choice but to step through.

⟡

As Miraen crossed the threshold, a single word echoed in her mind, spoken by something deep, ancient, and feminine.

“Sister.”

⟡

The mirrored realm—Aeylith—was both beautiful and terrifying.

They emerged into a ruined version of Varnhold, where black rivers cut through cities made of crystal, and moonlight bled red.

The sky pulsed.

And in the distance, above the twisted peaks of what should’ve been the Ember Citadel, floated a throne carved from obsidian flame.

Upon it sat Elydrith.

Hair like starlight turned to ash. Eyes like hollow stars.

She saw Miraen. And smiled.

“You came.”

Miraen drew her blade.

“You knew I would.”

“I dreamed you,” Elydrith said, rising. “For years. You were the light that ran away. But here, sister, we don’t run. We burn.”

Miraen’s blood turned cold.

She had come seeking allies.

But now, face-to-face with her mirror-self, she realized something darker.

This was no invasion.

It was a reunion.