The night unfurled like a murky shroud over my restless mind. Sleep eluded me, not due to the terror of nightmares, but from a primal fear of sinking into that abyss, where shadows beckon with whispered promises. Each time my weary eyelids surrendered to heaviness, an unsettling sound scraped against the glass, a faint warning--perhaps from a window, perhaps from a darker realm beyond. 

As dawn approached, I clung to the hope that the card would reveal its true nature in the daylight. Such was the way of strange things--they twisted and morphed, the threads of fear weaving an intricate tapestry--a tapestry where shadows birthed shapes and murmurs were mistaken for the sighing of the wind.

Yet, the moment I lifted the card from my bedside table, its essence remained unchanged: cold like the touch of metal, smooth like a polished mirror, with edges that seemed eager to draw blood. My name, etched upon it, declaring itself with chilling clarity--VAERIN--carved as if by an unwavering hand steeped in deliberate intent. 

Beneath the lettering, an echo of a face lingered, a visage I dared not scrutinize for long.

I wrapped the card in cloth, entombing it within the confines of my coat pocket, and ventured forth. The courtyeard, bathed in sunlight, felt less malevolent, yet still, the shadows cast by the archways clutched at the stones, as if loath to relinquish their hold on me. 

Luthen intercepted me upon my entry into the Glass Hall, concern etched across his features. "You look as if the night has swallowed you whole," he said, thrusting a cup of steaming tea into my hands before i could muster a protest.

"I did not sleep."

"What happened?" he pressed.

"Nothing," I replied, a lie that faltered under the weight of his piercing gaze.

"Something followed me last night," I admitted in a hushed tone. "I heard my name spoken."

He straightened, the tension in the air palpable. "The wind?"

"No. It was too intentional. Like a breath on my neck."

He did not laugh; instead, his hand found the familiar spot at the back of his neck, a gesture that bespoke disbelief. "I've heard it too."

No sooner had he uttered those words than Mistress Kallith swept into the hall. Trailing her were the theologians, their cloaks darker and more foreboding than I recalled. The metallic scent, sharp and biting, had intensified, reminiscent of the chill that lingers in the depths of a crypt. 

The tallest among them, the one who had possessed my name, turned his hood towards me, as if anticipating my arrival.

Mistress Kallith's voice rang out, brisk and authoritative. "Today, we shall reveal several of the lesser mirrors for structural inspection. This is under my command alone. Touch not the glass."

Her gaze fell upon me then, holding fast, lingering--neither unkind nor wholly welcoming. It bore a wary recognition, a hint that she too had sensed something amiss. 

As the theologians settled into their somber positions, I delved into my pocket, fingers brushing against the card's textured surface. I had intended to reveal it to her, to unearth its secrets, and to inquire if the archives had ever birthed such relics before.

Yet, as I unfurled the cloth--the card was transformed.

Gone was the smooth, mirror-like sheen. The carved name was absent; hand and face imprints melted into obscurity.

What lay before me was merely a thin square of tarnished metal. Void. Lifeless.

I blinked hard, willing the image to realign.

Had I conjured the illusions of my mind? The haze of sleepless nights could weave such mirages.

But as I tilted it ever so slightly, catching a slant of light just right, the faintest outline of the visage throbbed beneath the surface, like a specter lurking beneath the shallow waters.

A heavy swallow formed in my throat. I wrapped it hastily, returning it to the security of my pocket.

Mistress Kallith's voice sliced through the atmosphere, sharp and resonant. "Vaerin,"

I tensed. "Yes, mistress?"

"Approach Mirror Twelve. You will assist with the unveiling."

My heart raced. Twelve stood among the mirrors closest to the central aisle--closest to the theologian who had bid my name.

I advanced toward it, each step cautious and deliberate. The silk veil draping it appeared to ripple, defying the stillness that enveloped the air. 

Mistress Kallith seized one edge of the fabric. "You will document the frame's inscriptions only," she instructed, her tone brisk. "No surface evaluation yet."

I nodded, though the murmurings of the theologians crescendoed around me--an echo of breath woven tightly, a silent hymn. 

Kallith drew back the veil. Silver. Cold. Untouched. 

For but a fleeting moment, my own reflection flickered across the polished surface.

Then, from the corner of my eye, something emerged from behind my shoulder--a shape lingered there, delicate and shadowy, cloaked in darkness and hooded in mystery.

I whirled around. An empty expanse greeted me.

Yet, my gaze returned to the mirror; there it remained--the reflection, still and observant.

Mistress Kallith's grip tightened around my wrist, a vise of warning. "Do not gaze directly into the surface," she hissed, her voice a whisper of shadows. 

I forced my attention downward to the frame, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm. In the periphery, the shape stood unmoving--breathless.

The tall theologian in the center aisle murmured something low and hushed--the mirror's surface quivered, but ever so slightly, as if acknowledging an unseen presence. 

Kallith released her grip, her expression a mask of unreadable intent. "That will be sufficient for today," she declared sharply. "Luthen, escort Vaerin to the upper archives. I wish both of you away from this hall until further notice."

The theologian inclined his head toward me, his hood shifting like a shadow shedding light.

As Luthen guided me toward the exit, the weight of that reflection--the one that defied existence--pressed against the back of my neck, an inescapable gaze lingering long after I had turned away.