Before dawn, the theologians arrived. The hallways smelled odd, like cool stone after rain and something somewhat metallic, almost medicinal, which is how I knew. Although their footfall was gentle, their presence caused the air to thin.

They were inside the Glass Hall by the time I got there.

There were four of them. Standing tall, wearing bulky cloaks the color of parchment that has been exposed to fire for too long. Their hoods hung low, hiding their faces save for the glimmer of their pale, gloomy, unblinking eyes. 

With her hands clasped behind her back, Mistress Kallith stood next to them. "You will assist with documenting their findings," she continued without preamble. She turned to me and Luthen, who suddenly appeared next to me. "However, don't interrupt. Theologians examine the mirrors in ways that are beyond our comprehension."

"Perfect," Luthen whispered beneath his breath as he bent in my direction. "Creepy ceremony in the early morning with individuals who appear to have not slept since the First Era. What joy."

One of the figures in the cloak turned to face us. Luthen stiffened.

Mistress Kallith pointed to the rows of mirrors. "We start with the western fragments."

The air was filled with a whisper. It wasn't speech. It was breath. Too coordinated to be coincidental.

Luthen forced a smile while writing in his ledger and muttered, "They always do that. Hum. Chant. Talk softly. Depending on the day. Don't worry. It's what they do."

But while he scribbled, his hand trembled.

A mid-sized mirror covered in silver silk had one theologian on his knees. His cloak gathered around him like ink, yet I was unable to see his face.

He muttered once more, but this time it was gentler. The veil of the mirror fluttered. No draft existed.

Mistress Kallith's lips stiffened, but she remained silent. 

Hovering a breath above the silk, the tall theologian at the black-veiled mirror lifted a hand. The cloth trembled as if something moved underneath it. 

"Not yet," Mistress Kallith snapped. I had never heard the sharpness in her voice before. The theologian put his hand down; his was also trembling. 

Luthen gently nudged me and angled his ledger for me to see. He had written: They do not speak a language. It has a beat. Similar to breathing patterns. I believe they are using sound to map the hallway.

I scowled and added to it: Or the mirrors are reacting.

Luthen took a swallow. Then, to keep Mistress Kallith from seeing, I turned the page. 

At last, the theologian in the middle aisle shifted. He moved between two tall, sealed, covered mirrors and raised his hood just enough so I could see the bottom half of his face. He had gray lips, clotted with dust. As if he had ingested an antiquated substance.

He said a single syllable in a whisper that sounded more like an exhale than a spoken word. 

The hall's mirror veils all shook.

Just for a second, however, I witnessed it. Everybody saw it. 

Mistress Kallith cleared her throat. "That brings the morning reading to an end. We'll start off again at dusk."

After bowing, the theologians left the hall like shadows peeling off the walls.

The final one was the only one to stop by the door. Through the hood, I could feel his heavy, evaluative gaze. Then, very silently, he uttered, "Avoid cleaning the mirrors tonight."

Mistress Kallith tensed up. "That wasn't part of the directive."

The hood twisted a little. His lower face lit up with a tiny, incorrect smile.

"A few surfaces...wake up gradually."

Without waiting for a reply, he left.

Luthen let out a sigh that nearly turned into a laugh once they left. He leaned forward and said, "Vaerin, tell me I'm not dreaming."

"You're not."

"Well. I swear that my last name was murmured by the person in the middle aisle. And I never told him my surname."

I tried to quiet my heartbeat as I looked down at my notes. Where my fingers touched the ink, it smudged and turned gray once more. Dust-like. 

I used my sleeve to wipe it off. However, the mark remained.