Hasib followed the others deeper into the museum, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching him. He glanced back toward the enormous hall behind them, where the ancient mirror stood among the other relics. From this distance, he could no longer see its surface clearly, yet the strange feeling in his chest remained.
"Hasib, are you coming or not?" a girl called from ahead.
"Yeah, I’m coming, Hina!"
Hina, the smallest in the group, tugged absently at the edge of the soft cloth veil pinned back over her hair, the way she always did when she wasn’t sure whether to speak yet.
Hasib caught up with the group quickly.
The museum grew quieter as they moved farther inside. The halls narrowed here, and the bright lights of the main exhibition gave way to small lamps fixed along the walls. Behind the glass cases sat artifacts from different periods of history: old armor, broken weapons, fragments of ancient machinery, and stone tablets covered in symbols nobody seemed to understand anymore.
Hasib stopped in front of one display.
It showed an ancient Warrior standing before a massive creature, sword raised above his head. The painting had faded with age, but the Warrior’s expression was still clear.
He looked fearless.
Hasib stared at him for a moment. Was I really born in the wrong era? A small smile crossed his face. Maybe becoming a Warrior wasn’t impossible after all.
"Don’t fall behind," Madam Habi called.
He nodded and kept walking.
The group eventually circled back to the largest exhibition hall, where several students had already gathered around the central platform, still talking about the Forgotten Warrior.
"Was he really the strongest Warrior?" one student asked.
Madam Habi folded her arms. "That’s what many records suggest."
"Then why don’t we know his name?"
"Because almost everything about him disappeared along with him."
She glanced toward the two swords and the mirror. "The records from that period are incomplete. We know a powerful Warrior existed. We know he fought in several major battles. We know he disappeared roughly seven hundred years ago."
"And these are the only things he left behind?"
"Yes."
A student pointed at the swords. "So why don’t scientists use them to figure out who he was?"
Madam Habi smiled faintly. "They tried."
"What happened?"
"Nothing." She stepped closer to the barrier. "The swords have been examined countless times. Their materials are unusual, but not unusual enough to explain their origin. As for the mirror, nobody’s ever found anything special about it."
Hasib looked at the mirror. Nothing special?
He thought back to what he’d seen a few minutes earlier. His own reflection, blinking on its own. The strange warrior standing behind him. He still wasn’t sure whether either thing had actually happened.
"Can people touch them?" someone asked.
"No," Madam Habi said immediately. "They’re protected for a reason."
A few students grumbled, but Hasib barely registered it. His eyes stayed fixed on the mirror. Something about it wouldn’t let him go.
He drifted a little closer. The transparent barrier stood between them, throwing back a faint image of his own face.
He stopped.
His reflection looked ordinary.
He tilted his head. The reflection matched him.
He raised a hand. It copied him again, perfectly.
He lowered his hand slowly. See? Nothing.
He almost turned away.
Then the reflection smiled.
Hasib went rigid.
The smile lasted less than a second before it vanished, his reflection settling back to normal.
He stared at himself. Did I actually just see that?
He stepped back.
"Hasib?"
He turned. Hina stood nearby. "What happened?"
"Nothing."
"You look pale."
"I’m fine."
She studied him a moment longer, then nodded. "Okay. Come on, Madam Habi’s moving on."
He followed her, though his eyes drifted back to the mirror one last time. Its surface had gone still again. For some reason, it felt like it was waiting for something.
The group moved on to another section of the museum, and Hasib tried to push the whole thing out of his mind. He looked over old weapons, listened to Madam Habi explain their history, even laughed once when Rohan nearly knocked over a display barrier.
For a few minutes, everything felt normal again.
Then Raka fell in step beside him. "Still thinking about that mirror?"
"No."
"Liar."
Rohan joined them. "Maybe he’s hoping the Forgotten Warrior’s gonna pop out and teach him how to fight."
Raka laughed.
Hasib ignored them and kept walking. Raka stepped directly into his path.
"What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?"
"Move."
Raka arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Feeling brave now?"
Hasib tried to step around him. Raka matched the movement.
"Move."
Raka smiled, and shoved him.
Hasib stumbled backward, his shoulder catching the edge of a nearby display case.
CRACK!
The glass shattered. An ancient sword slipped free of its stand inside.
His eyes went wide. The sword hit the floor.
CLANG!
The sound rang through the hall. Every head nearby turned at once.
"What happened?"
"Don’t touch it!"
"Someone get an attendant!"
Hasib stared down at the fallen sword.
For an instant, something passed across his forehead, a dark, #-shaped mark flickering beneath his hairline before vanishing just as fast.
He didn’t notice it. Neither did Raka or Rohan.
The museum attendant hurried over from across the hall. "What happened here?"
Raka stepped back immediately. "I didn’t do anything."
"You pushed me," Hasib said.
Raka frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Before Hasib could say more, the attendant raised a hand. "Enough. Everyone, back up." He crouched beside the sword.
"Sir, don’t touch it," Madam Habi warned.
"It’s fine," he said. "I’ve handled hundreds of these."
He reached down. His fingers closed around the hilt.
His whole body locked up. His eyes flew wide.
"Ah!"
He let go and staggered back, clutching his hand, staring at the weapon.
"What happened?" Madam Habi asked.
"I... I don’t know." His breathing had turned ragged. "It felt like..."
He stopped.
"Like what?"
He looked at the sword again. "Like something moved inside it."
The hall went dead quiet. Raka’s grin dropped away. Even Rohan looked uneasy.
Madam Habi stepped between the students and the relic. "Everyone, move back. Now."
Nobody argued.
Hasib stayed where he was, his eyes drifting slowly from the sword to the mirror.
Something had changed. Its surface wasn’t perfectly still anymore. A faint ripple crossed it.
His heart skipped. No...
He took a step closer. The ripple spread outward, the way a drop spreads through still water, and for a moment the reflection inside it changed entirely.
The museum vanished, and the students with it.
In their place stood a dark battlefield. A tall Warrior stood in the distance, long hair moving in a wind Hasib couldn’t feel, a sword resting loose in one hand. He couldn’t make out the man’s face, but something about the sight felt achingly familiar.
The Warrior began to turn toward him.
Hasib’s breath caught, and the image vanished.
The mirror returned to normal.
"Hasib?"
He blinked. Hina was watching him. "Are you okay?"
He didn’t answer right away, his eyes still on the mirror. Nothing there now but his own reflection.
"I... I’m fine."
He wasn’t. He had no idea what he’d just seen, or why the relics in this hall kept reacting to him.
The attendant was still staring at the sword. Madam Habi had moved off to speak with another staff member. The students clustered together, whispering.
Nobody seemed to have noticed what had briefly appeared inside the mirror.
Only Hasib had.
He touched his own forehead. Nothing there, only the lingering feeling that something had noticed him first.
He looked at the mirror one last time. For a moment, his reflection seemed to be looking back at him with an expression that wasn’t his own.
Then the lights overhead flickered.
Once.
Twice.
And somewhere deep beneath the museum, under seven centuries of silence, something opened its eyes.