The God of Mischief and Madness

Another day, another batch of missed calls from Lyra. A few voicemails, too. I didn't play them.

It was just past midnight.

I sat in the car, staring up at the Citadel. Even now, it glimmered in the moonlight... cold and perfect. Like it didn't sleep. Like it didn't have to.

Funny. I'd never really looked at it before.

Not like this. Not with the same hunger it used to look at us.

Because for the first time… I stared back.

She would be up there.

Unless the Reverie had gotten her first

If she's still on the shard, I can reach her. If she's already gone… then I'll follow the Gate.

Either way, I'm not staying behind.

—

The windshield had fogged at the corners. Condensation crept in where the seal cracked.

I didn't bother wiping it anymore. Everything worth seeing was above.

The Citadel hovered like a blade half-swung, its black shard stabbed into the sky.

From here, I could see the mirrored face they called the Eye.

It never blinked.

But some nights, I swore it shimmered.

Like something was breathing inside.

I hadn't meant to stay this long.

A few hours, I told myself.

Maybe catch a glimpse. See how people got in. Get in myself.

Find her.

But that was four days ago.

Five, maybe.

I kept telling myself this wasn't obsession.

That I could walk away.

That I wasn't waiting for anything.

But I was still here.

Only one thought bounced in my head...

The longer I stayed, the more likely she was gone.

Day by day. Hour by hour.

Time was ticking.

The back seat was full of wrappers and notes. Scribbled timestamps. Van numbers. Courier routes. Nothing added up. Nothing made sense.

Except for the fact that every morning, when the Gate opened, the Citadel cast its reflection across the plaza.

And every morning...People vanished.

Always Sworn. Always alone.

No stairs.

No door.

No sound.

Just… gone.

—

The first few days, I watched from the meadow. It gave me a clear line of sight without drawing attention. No one ever climbed to the Citadel.

No skyhooks. No trams. No helicopters.

Just a black shard punched through the clouds, too smooth to scale, too silent to belong.

I kept waiting for something to move. A hatch. A cable. A sign.

But the tower never answered.

It just watched back.

Then I started driving laps around the plaza at dawn. Delivery vans came and went. One in particular always arrived early, cargo stacked high... but it never left the same way. I checked the license plate three times. Same van. Same driver. But no return route.

The plaza didn't even have loading docks.

I started sleeping in the car. Easier than explaining where I was to Lyra. Or to myself.

—

At some point, I started seeing the signs.

A man stepped onto the plaza and vanished without a sound. A courier walked across the mirror... and didn't cast a shadow. A girl waited at the edge, then took one step forward and never came out the other side.

I blinked. Thought it was exhaustion. But I kept seeing it. Not every day. But often enough.

Like a trick of light, they vanished through the beams cast of the Citadel.

—

I lied back and closed my eyes. The world slipped sideways in that way it does when sleep isn't sleep, just memory, blurred at the edges.

We were back at the Meadow. Not the clearing, not our place. This was before that. Before anything really.

Late spring. Golden hour. The grass was too tall and too green. Lyra sat cross-legged on the slope, threading dandelions into a messy loop. Anya was beside her, her fingers faster, more precise, lips pursed in mock concentration. She'd already made two crowns. One for Lyra. One for herself.

I hovered near them, pretending to be uninterested, swatting at bugs and probably looking like an idiot.

"You're taking this way too seriously," I said, watching her knot another stem with impossible ease.

"Art deserves respect," Anya replied, not looking up. She lifted her crown, studied it, then plopped it onto Lyra's head with a flourish. "All hail Queen Lyra of the Meadow."

Lyra grinned and struck a royal pose. "Do I get a court jester?"

Anya smirked, eyes flicking to me. "Oh, he's already here."

"Wow." I tossed a decapitated flower at her. "Betrayal in my own kingdom."

Anya just laughed. It was careless, full, the kind of laugh that hit harder in hindsight. The kind you remember not because it was loud, but because it made you want to earn it again.

Then, quieter, she looked down at the petals in her lap. "These flowers don't grow this thick unless someone planted them. You know that?"

"Dandelions?" Lyra asked. "I thought they just happened."

Anya shook her head. "Someone sowed them. Maybe years ago. Maybe just once. And now they're everywhere."

"So they're weeds," I said.

"No," she replied. "They're something someone couldn't let go of. Even if the world tried to forget."

Lyra tilted her head. "That's kind of sad."

I was watching Anya when I said it. "I think it's kind of beautiful."

She met my eyes, just for a second. Then looked away.

I didn't follow.

—

The hum of the Citadel woke me.

Dawn's first light caught on its highest mirrored facet…and for a breathless second, it burned like fire.

A single beam struck down.

Clean. Precise.

It landed on the plaza.

Where it touched, the air shimmered.

And then… a shape formed.

A perfect vertical mirror, three stories tall.

Not glass. Not metal.

Something… in between.

It didn't rise.

It didn't open.

It revealed itself.

Liquid silver, still as held breath.

It reflected the city.

The sky.

The Citadel above.

And me.

I turned the ring over in my palm.

Edges bent. Still warm from the night before.

The last thing she gave me.

The only thing I hadn't let go of.

Anya told me not to save her.

To live... for the both of us.

But we both knew the truth.

There was no life for me without her.

If I wasn't chasing her... If I couldn't protect her...

then I might as well be dead.

—

So I made my choice.

I opened the car door slowly.

The wind outside was cold, but the plaza felt warmer.

Like the mirror radiated memory.

Or maybe just the last thing I'd touched that still remembered her.

I didn't think.

I ran.

My shoes hit the glass.

It didn't feel like stone.

The mirror loomed, endless and still.

I saw myself in it.

My reflection smiled.

But it wasn't tired.

It wasn't afraid.

It looked like it had already made it through.

And opened its arms.

For a second, I thought I saw her behind it.

Waiting.

Not calling to me.

Not reaching back.

Just watching.

And then she was gone.

I crossed.

Not forward.

Inward.

—

The light swallowed me.

Not like fire.

Not like warmth.

Like truth.

And I wasn't ready.

—

He did not chase her hoping to win her back.

He chased her because he could not bear a world she had already left.