Chapter 2 - The Girl in the Mirror

  I step toward the mirror in the corner, watching as the girl moves with me, no longer just a static image. But it’s not just that.

  The way she looks—those piercing blue eyes, sharp and assessing—there’s something in them I recognize. No, more than that. I know them.

  I stare back. Those eyes aren’t distant. They aren’t someone else’s. I see them every morning. When I shave, when I crave caffeine, when I decide today I choose violence.

  I glance down at myself—same body, same clothes. Nothing’s changed. But when I look back up, a thought slips through the cracks of logic before I can stop it.

  Those eyes are mine.

  The idea sticks—too real, too certain—before reason kicks in, shoving it back to the edges of my mind.

  I exhale slowly, keeping my focus. “So, stranger, looks like Mother can see you too.” My tone stays level, detached—pushing distance between me and the absurdity of it all.

  My mother doesn’t react at first. She studies me, her expression carefully measured—calm, but carrying a quiet intensity. Then, in a voice soft and deliberate, she says,

  “In less than a day, your bloodline will awaken.”

  Bloodline. A simple word, but right now, I can’t unravel its meaning.

  I look into her eyes, searching for anything that makes sense.

  “Bloodline?” The word feels foreign, like it belongs to a language I don’t speak. Does it mean family? Blood relatives? How does something like that awaken?”

  She nods, her smile steady with quiet certainty. “Your grandmother will be back in the morning. We’ll explain everything then. For now, just know we kept certain things hidden to protect you. When the time comes, you’ll understand.”

  And just like that, she turns and leaves.

  A chuckle slips from me. Hidden truths. Protection. That’s the kind of thing I expect from work, not home. Family should be different.

  I rub a hand over my face, exhaling slowly. The absurdity of it all should shake me, should send my mind into overdrive. But instead, it just sits there—dull, distant. Like a fact waiting for me to catch up to it, and I’m too tired to care.

  The thought remains as I step into the shower, twisting the knob until the water comes hot but comfortable. The heat rolls over me, soothing yet not enough to wash away the tension in my chest.

  Even with my eyes closed, I can see her face—undeniably beautiful with sharp eyes, like she’s waiting for something.

  I inhale, slow and steady. Push it down. Move forward.

  Suppressing a sigh, I go through the motions—drying off, dressing. No thought required. But as I pass the mirror one last time, something inside me hesitates.

  The girl is still there.

  My fingers pause over the light switch before I finally switch it off and settle into bed. Sleep doesn’t come easy. But eventually, it finds me.

  ***

  The next morning, I wake with a strange clarity. No dreams. Just the expectation of something new settling in. A cool sensation runs through me—crisp, refreshing, enough to bring me mostly awake. I lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting my mind boot up. I have a feeling today will be interesting.

  My gaze drifts across the room. The girl is still there. A part of me expected her to be gone, nothing more than a fading illusion.

  I glance at the picture of Skuld, the thought slipping in before I can stop it—What would you do?

  A chuckle escapes me. Maybe I really am losing it.”

  Shaking off the thought, I push myself up. The morning air is refreshing against my skin, chasing away the last remnants of sleep. Coffee first. Then, whatever conversation Mom has planned.

  Morning…” I call out, giving a small wave as I step into the kitchen.

  “Good morning, Riku.” Mom glances at me, one eyebrow raised. “You’re looking better, but still not all there yet. Go sit—I’ll bring the coffee.”

  I take a seat, running a finger along the edge of the embroidered tablecloth. The faded flower pattern catches my eye—same design as the last time I was here, years ago. A sigh escapes me, followed by a dry chuckle.

  Compared to the Army, how hard can it be? Normally, the thought is reassuring, but this? This isn’t even in the same category.

  Mom sets the mug in front of me, the warmth pressing into my hands. “Your grandmother should be home soon. Take a moment with the coffee, Riku.”

  “She’s alright, then?”

  “She’s fine. They just kept her in for a final checkup after the accident. They’d have looked at us strange if we’d brought her home right away.”

  I nod, taking a slow sip, letting the bitterness sit on my tongue. The same detachment from last night returns, like I’m just an observer in my own life. I stare into the mug, watching the steam curl upward, losing myself in its slow, hypnotic spiral—until something in the air shifts, pulling me back.

  Two smiles meet me, both sharp and knowing, but in such different ways.

  “Morning, Grandma. Good to see you back.”

  Her eyes meet mine—striking blue, heavy with a kind of weight I can’t yet place.

  “Welcome back to you, too, Riku.” Her gaze holds steady. “We have a lot to discuss, and I’m not sure how much time we have before things start to change. So let’s stay focused on what matters.”

  I nod, that silent sense of anticipation building as we finally approach what’s been unspoken.

  “Riku, everyone in your family, in this world, is here at this table. Your blood carries a powerful legacy—something that’s now stirring, awakened by what you’ve faced and the choices you’ve made.” Her gaze shifts, drawing my attention to the glass reflection nearby. “Look closely, Riku. You’ve already seen your legacy. She watches you even now.”

  I glance toward the window, and there she is—the girl in the mirror. She looks just as lost as I feel. But beneath that, something stirs—a challenge, an understanding, something that doesn’t quite belong to the past or the future, but to me.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Riku, it’s called Truesight. It pierces illusions and reveals the truth. What was once a shadow within has emerged to be your true self—your soul. In time, the body reflects the soul, and that time is drawing near.”

  I test the word. “Truesight? You’re saying this is… some kind of ability? Magic?”

  Her eyes remain calm, unflinching. “Yes and no. Magic exists, but this? This is your legacy. It requires a strong will, strength of soul to wield. But understand—Truesight is only the beginning.”

  “Grandmother,” I say, a tight edge in my voice, “if you knew all this, why leave me in the dark?”

  Riku, breathe.” My mother’s voice is firm, but there’s a quiet note of care beneath it.

  I close my eyes, taking one breath, then another, feeling the tension unravel. When I open them, I catch my grandmother’s expression—calm, steady, waiting.

  “Your birth was an anomaly, Riku. You are the first male in our bloodline, and we didn’t know if your legacy would awaken. If we had forced it, if we had told you before you were ready, it might never have surfaced at all.”

  I blink. “Love you too. And thanks for that… ‘anomaly’… First time I’ve been called that, and—yeah, I have my issues, but seriously.” I shoot a look at Mom before she can say anything, taking a deep breath as her eyebrow lifts in response. A quiet laugh escapes Grandma, amused by the exchange.

  She lets the words settle before continuing, her voice measured. “Your birth was unique, the result of a human parent blessed by the divine. But revealing this to you too soon would have placed an immense burden on you. The awakening had to happen naturally—through experience, through a path only you could walk.”

  “Understand this: I had to let you find your own strength, Riku. And now, it’s brought you here.”

  She gives me a moment before continuing.

  “Let me break this down into two parts.

  “One – we weren’t certain if your legacy was strong enough to awaken. Fate isn’t a guarantee; it’s potential, not certainty, until it manifests.”

  “Two – if you were to have any chance of awakening, it would be under certain conditions, such as facing a real enemy and taking a life.”

  Her words leave no room for doubt. As realization washes over me, the detached calm from earlier gives way to something else—something harder to define. She catches it, a soft chuckle slipping past her lips. “These are only the most basic complications of your awakening. We can delve deeper later, but now that it’s happened, does it really matter? You can believe me when I say we have plenty of time.” She pauses, her gaze steady. “Your lifespan will easily exceed a thousand years. There’s no need to rush for all the answers today.”

  This isn’t the dull detachment from before. This is something firmer, like a piece locking into place. I exhale, letting it take root. My gaze meets hers, and for the first time, I catch a flicker of unease in her eyes.

  “Please, continue. It’s almost amusing how little I know about my own family.”

  I’m surprised by the softness in my voice, the emotions threading beneath it—resignation, frustration, and, against all odds, a wry acceptance of how little control I’ve truly had. I sigh, leaning forward to pinch the bridge of my nose before raising an eyebrow and signaling her to continue.

  She gives a slight nod, her tone gentler now. “Your legacy is one of the reasons you look so much younger in the mirror. By our race’s standards, we’re still considered children until we reach a hundred. That will be one of many things to adjust to. Honestly, I think a break from adult responsibilities would do you some good—especially considering the changes you’ll soon experience.”

  The words land, and I turn them over, piece by piece. So, I’m supposed to become what I see in the mirror. A different race, a different… everything. I get the logic—body reflects the soul, or whatever—but wrapping my head around it is another thing. Male children are impossible in my family, and yet, here I am. So what does that mean for me?

  Shock should be the natural reaction. Instead, there’s a strange calm—one I don’t trust. It’s not the kind of calm that comes from acceptance, but the kind that comes when the mind refuses to process something fully. A shield, a delay. The facts are right in front of me, but they refuse to click.

  I don’t feel like I’m on the verge of becoming something else. I feel like me. Just me.

  A part of me doesn’t even want to ask. Doesn’t want to give the question meaning, doesn’t want the answer. But I ask anyway.

  “So, what am I? Japanese? Norwegian? Something else? Were those just convenient excuses? What are my real origins?”

  “Your other mother was called Riho, and she was of Japanese descent. You’re definitely half-Japanese. As for your Norwegian side, it’s true that I spent a long time there. A very long time ago.” She pauses, a faint smile appearing as if at a private joke. “In those days, they called me Skuld. Does that ring a bell? You have a framed picture of me on your wall, after all.”

  Skuld. The name hits hard.

  Of course, I’m familiar with Norse mythology, but the Valkyrie of Fate? A legendary figure by all rights. The woman in the picture I spent hours staring at, trying to grasp the presence she carried. And now, my grandmother?

  I let out a breath, steadying myself. “Prove it. You said it’s a disguise, so just drop the grandmother look. Show me Skuld.” My tone holds, direct. “Since we’re family and all.”

  A small smirk tugs at her lips—an expression I’ve never seen on her before. It throws me off, like I’m seeing someone new in a familiar body, and yet… somehow, it fits.

  “A simple request, Riku,” she replies, amusement in her voice.

  Then, with a ripple in the air like water bending in sunlight, the figure before me shifts. The grandmother’s face fades, replaced by something sharper, something undeniably real. Skuld’s true form emerges—silver hair cascading in soft waves, framing a face that carries both grace and intensity. She stands there, calm and poised, yet the very air around her comes alive with energy.

  It’s her—no longer just an image from my wall, but a presence, vivid and impossible to deny. Something that no painting could ever capture.

  I find myself absorbing each detail, noticing things I hadn’t even thought of before—the way her eyes catch the light, the silent grace in the way she holds herself. The smirk that had seemed so unfitting on my grandmother now looks natural, comfortable on the woman before me. This wasn’t just my grandmother anymore. This was Skuld—fierce, legendary in her own right—and yet, she was still somehow her, eyes full of that same knowing gaze.

  She tilts her head, studying me. I watch as her lips shift into a small smile—neither grandmotherly nor distant. It’s something balanced delicately between amusement and quiet understanding, like she’s aware of the layers of confusion swirling in my thoughts. My mind compares the image in my memory, seeking those small, almost imperceptible differences—the curve of her lips, the slight tension around her eyes, details that breathe life into what was once just a figure in a painting.

  So, Riku,” she murmurs, her voice soft, as if trying not to shatter the moment. “Is this what you expected?”

  I shake my head slowly, unable to find the words. This isn’t just my grandmother, and yet she is. The girl from the picture, the warrior from my dreams—she’s all of them, yet something else entirely. Someone real, standing right in front of me.

  My thoughts try to catch up. Two mothers? The idea should be jarring, but instead, it settles into place with surprising ease. It’s another shift in an already surreal conversation, but somehow, it doesn’t feel wrong. Just… different.

  I glance at her again, the image of Skuld now firmly overlapping with the woman before me. The disconnect between past and present starts to blur. Taking a slow breath, I push down the questions and focus on what’s in front of me.

  A question slips out unguarded, half an intrusive thought: “How does a Valkyrie like Skuld end up in a hospital? Why would she age?” The words sound distant, almost ridiculous, yet they hang there, unanswered.

  The room falls silent. Then, Mom lets out a soft laugh, and Skuld clears her throat—a reaction that tells me I might’ve actually caught them off guard.

  Skuld’s voice is gentle, peeling back another layer of the mystery. “A careless moment,” she admits. “I’ve always kept a bloodline bond between us—a tether that lets me sense you. Your health, your emotions, even across distances.”

  The idea of my emotions being sensed without my knowing brings a brief furrow to my brow, but before I can dwell on it, she continues.

  “I was rushing for a bus when your bloodline pulsed sharply. That fleeting disruption—it was like a bottleneck clearing, the energy of your awakening finally unbound.” A soft chuckle escapes her. “But in that moment of distraction, it wasn’t the bus I caught, but the other way around.”

  “Due to the accident being public, I had no choice but to assume the role of a normal old lady. So an ambulance was called, and I went to the hospital. It also gave us a convenient excuse to bring you back home—a choice I wouldn’t have made otherwise, but one that served its purpose.”

  She pauses, a glint of humor barely visible in her eyes. “I haven’t actually aged, as you can see. The grandmotherly appearance is simply an illusion I created to blend into society. After all, I do have a grandchild, and a figure who doesn’t age tends to stand out if she stays in one place too long.”

  The thought sinks in, and I find myself stifling a laugh despite everything. “So, Skuld, maybe it really was fate?”

  A subtle smile crosses her face. The edge of the moment slips as I chuckle once more, though it sounds a little jagged in my ears. A blend of feelings, swirling yet contained, settles within me as I work to steady myself in the aftermath of her words.