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Mirrorspace was full of mystery and danger, always shifting and changing from one path to the next. An endless hall of doors, closing and opening silently.

And mirrors.

Infinite mirrors.

Sometimes, shadows moved in them. Sometimes there was a flickering reflection of someone else in the mirror, gone too quickly to confirm or deny that it was ever even there to begin with. Sometimes there was no reflection at all.

Mirrorspace was a prison of devoured worlds and souls, silent but for the occasional distant crumbling or shattered glass or scuffling of wraiths as they scoured the halls.

Silent, except, for a strange echo that followed Kiuchi's spoken thoughts.

The mirror nearest to him hummed, like a drawn out whisper. It was metallic, like it came down a long steel hallway.

And then sharply, distorted, a voice rang out. "I can hear you."

It sounded almost pleading, desperate.

From another mirror, closer but across the hall from the first, "Where are you?"

A few more mirrors seemed to catch a shadow that moved amongst them, desperately searching for the source of the voice. The mirror before Kiuchi flashed and the shadow was distant, far away. The voice carried though, with a strange, brittle echo.

"Lost," came the answer, distorted and faded. It sounded like a message, warping in and out.

"I'm lost. Where are you? --Where do you hail from. Which galaxy, which planet. Please. Keep talking."

"Does lost have multiple meanings?" the voice asked, not sarcastic, but strained. The voice was speaking again, though it was distorted, like every other word was drowned with a cracking noise. A mirror across the hallway cracked and the voice hissed lowly. A shadow appeared in the mirror closest to Kiuchi but it was far away and distant.

"--The mirrors are unstable," the voice said, desperate. "They cracked, and I fell. You shoudln't be here."

And yet, it didn't sound like it wanted him to leave.

"It's not safe here."

"I don't understand it, myself."

The voice flickered in--and for a split second, it looked like the figure disappeared from the mirror. A few seconds later he appeared across the hall, a bit closer.

"...I hate this place. I want out. I've been searching for so long. It doesn't make sense. I should be dead. It won't let me die."

The mirror cracked; it split right down the middle, as if someone had hit it.

For a moment, the hall was silent, and then--a tired whisper from somewhere nearby--and then a hand, on the mirror.

"I don't have time," the voice said softly. His whole form was black, impossible to see--but it was there. Right next to him, in the mirror, hand pressed firmly against the glass. "I won't last forever. I don't want to die. I'm losing my mind, too. Please," the voice begged. There was a low hum in the distance--a loud, reverberating sound, like a piece of metal had been hit. There was a crunching sound from somewhere else, and the air seemed heavy, and cold.

For a second, Kiuchi's hand didn't move. The glass was solid, unwavering.

And then, it rippled. His hand slipped through, his fingers laced with the stranger's. For a split second, their hands were connected, his hand slipped through. He was wearing a dark glove, worn with time and use.

His hand slipped through the mirror--and then his wrist.

And then, a loud, cracking sound echoed through the air. All of the mirrors in the hall splintered instantly and the ground shook. The figure beyond the mirror cried out, as if in pain or surprise. His hand slipped away, violently yanked from Kiuchi's grip. The mirror exploded outwards, sending shards blasting everywhere. The shadow was gone from sight and the hallway Kiuchi stood in crumbled below him, sending him plummeting below. He landed in the common room the Dark Mirror Court shared when first entering mirrorspace--a few yards away from the great black doors of the throne room.

The ceiling above him looked unmarred--solid, again, as if the hallway he'd been in had never existed.

Mirrorspace was quiet. It was still.

It was empty again.