Chapter 2: Glass Heart

She fell.

Not through space. Not through time.

Through the Mirror.

The moment Aeryn touched the mirror shard, the world crumbled like ash. The Royal Academy, the gray walls, even the weight of her body—vanished. Only light remained, rushing around her in soft streaks of blue and gold. Her heartbeat echoed like a war drum in a cathedral of silence.

And then—

Grass.

She landed softly on a hill, green and sun-warmed, beneath a sky of rose-pink clouds and twin suns that glowed like sleeping eyes. Birds chirped in a harmony she’d never heard before. The air carried the scent of mangoes and rain.

She stood, trembling.

She was still in her black and silver Filipiniana gown, but the cuff—Queen Xrydia’s monitor, always cold on her wrist—was gone.

Aeryn took a step forward and realized something else: freedom felt strange. Heavy, to be honest.

“Where am I?” she whispered.

“You’re in Araw-Diwa,” a voice replied behind her.

She spun around.

A boy stood there. He looked about her age, with windswept hair the color of sunlit mahogany and skin kissed by golden light. His clothes were simple—woven linen in pastel blue and cream—but his eyes were extraordinary. One was a soft brown, the other silver like moonlight.

“I’m Kael,” he said. “You’re from the other side, aren’t you?”

Aeryn stepped back. “How do you know that?”

“Because your heart’s glass is still cracking,” he said softly. “We can see it in your aura.”

“My what?”

Kael smiled gently. “It’s alright. The Mirror chooses only those strong enough to change everything.”

Before she could ask more, a shimmering archway appeared behind Kael—made of light, not stone. Beyond it, she saw a village with floating lanterns, women and men laughing together, and children running freely. There were no soldiers. No collars. No hate.

Tears welled in her eyes.

“Come,” Kael said. “The Elders have waited centuries for someone like you.”

They walked through Araw-Diwa together. The people looked at Aeryn with awe—not fear, not suspicion, just quiet hope. A woman with white tattoos bowed deeply. A man offered her a fruit. Kael explained that she had crossed from the realm of control into the Mirror World, where the spirit of the Philippines remained untouched by tyranny.

“There was a time,” Kael said, “when both worlds were one. Until hatred cracked the Mirror. Queen Xrydia was the one who broke it.”

“She was part of this world?” Aeryn asked, stunned.

“She was born here,” Kael nodded. “But she crossed over with vengeance in her heart. The Mirror twisted her pain into power.”

Aeryn’s mind reeled. “Why me? Why now?”

Kael looked at her for a long moment.

“Because you're still capable of love in a world that teaches you to fear it.”

They arrived at a circular temple made of woven vines and crystal branches. The inside pulsed with light, like a living heart. At its center stood three Elders—one man, one woman, and one who was neither. Their hair was silver, their eyes closed, yet they radiated wisdom.

“She is the Vessel,” said the male Elder.

“The one who holds both pain and promise,” said the female Elder.

“The one who dares to feel,” said the third.

They raised their hands, and a golden triangle appeared in the air. Inside it, three symbols formed in Baybayin: Alaala (memory), Pag-ibig (love), and Katotohanan (truth).

“You must gather these three fragments from your world,” the third Elder said. “Only then can the Mirror be healed.”

“And what happens if I fail?” Aeryn asked.

The Elders spoke in one voice.

“Then your world will forget what it means to love. Forever.”

That night, Aeryn sat under a glowing tree beside a river that shimmered like silver. Kael joined her, carrying two cups of warm tea that smelled like cinnamon and guava.

“You’re quiet,” he said, handing her one.

“I’m scared.”

“Good,” Kael replied. “Only fools enter war without fear.”

“This is war?” she asked.

“Not with swords,” he said. “But with hearts. And hearts are harder to heal than wounds.”

She sipped the tea and looked at the stars—so many, and none of them like home.

“I miss someone,” she confessed.

Kael tilted his head. “Someone from your world?”

“His name is Lior,” she said. “He’s... more than a Servitor. He’s my friend. My soul aches for him.”

“Then your heart is already stronger than most,” Kael said. “Keep it close. You’ll need him.”

“How do I return?”

Kael stood and reached into his pocket. He drew out a new shard of the mirror—this one clearer, colder.

“This will take you back,” he said. “But time moves differently between our worlds. What feels like a night here may only be moments there.”

Aeryn clutched the shard tightly.

“What if I don’t remember any of this when I go back?”

“You will,” Kael said. “Because the heart never forgets.”

She woke up in her dorm.

No lights. No sound. Just her breathing.

The mirror shard lay in her hand, still glowing faintly.

Had it all been a dream?

She pulled back the curtain and looked out over the Academy’s marble courtyard. Drones circled. Guards patrolled. But something in her had shifted.

She knew what freedom felt like now.

She knew what was possible.

A ping came through her room's speaker system.

“All first-year daughters report to the Hall of Virtue. Your loyalty exam begins now.”

The Hall of Virtue was more a throne room than a classroom. Rows of girls stood in formation, all dressed in identical gowns. Each had a silver band on their head to read thought patterns.

The test was simple: recite loyalty pledges and suppress emotional impulses. Fail, and you were reassigned to cleansing labor.

Aeryn stepped forward when her name was called.

“State your allegiance,” the instructor barked.

“I serve Queen Xrydia,” Aeryn said calmly.

“State your purpose.”

“To uphold purity. To eradicate emotional distraction. To preserve the monarchy.”

“State the law on love.”

Aeryn paused.

The room tensed.

The instructor narrowed her eyes.

“State the law, Castañeda.”

Aeryn’s fingers twitched around the shard in her sleeve.

She spoke evenly. “Love between man and woman is treason. It weakens the nation. It is forbidden.”

The instructor smiled. “Excellent.”

But Aeryn’s heart screamed.

Later that night, while the others celebrated passing, Aeryn slipped into the lower corridors—half-abandoned levels where old records were stored.

She searched until she found a sealed archive marked Cebu: Pre-Monarchy Ruins.

Using the shard as a key, the lock hissed open.

Inside were photos, blueprints, and virtual recordings of ancient buildings—churches, plazas, even handwritten love letters confiscated during the first purges.

Among the files was a marked location: The Chapel of St. Regina, the last known site where lovers married before the Queen’s rise.

Aeryn knew then: this was her first key. Her first fragment.

But she couldn’t go alone.

She needed someone who knew the streets.

She needed Lior.

The next morning, Aeryn put in a formal request to visit her mother.

She was granted a pass to return to the family estate.

Lior was there. Thinner. Quieter. His hands were bruised, his collar blinking yellow—one level below lethal shock.

“Lior,” she whispered when they were alone in the garden.

He looked up slowly. “You came back.”

“I saw something,” she said. “Another world. One where we’re... free.”

He didn’t speak. He just watched her.