The Elementalist (TE)

The sound of heavy, frantic footsteps echoed through a seemingly endless labyrinth of mirrors. The boy, barely 18, sprinted with all his might, his icy silver hair clinging to his sweat-dampened forehead. His icy blue eyes, wide with fear and determination, darted left and right, scanning for an escape. Every time he passed a mirror, his reflection stared back, pale and trembling, matching his quick, shallow breaths.

Behind him, the monstrous figure loomed—a shadowy, amorphous being with a single, jagged horn protruding from its head. Its form twisted unnaturally, moving in ways that defied logic, yet its hunger was tangible, an oppressive force that pressed against his very soul. The boy's lips trembled as he muttered under his breath, "Come on, just a little more..."

His movements were desperate yet calculated. His arms pumped with a rhythm born of adrenaline, his fingers occasionally brushing against the cold, smooth surfaces of the mirrors as if for balance. His body screamed for rest, his legs aching with each step, but he pushed on, the terror behind him stronger than his fatigue.

His expression was a storm of emotions—panic, resolve, and a flicker of hope that refused to die. His jaw clenched tightly, but his lower lip quivered, betraying the fragile edge of his courage. Then he saw it—a mirror that seemed different, its surface shimmering faintly with an ethereal light.

He skidded to a stop before it, almost collapsing from the abrupt halt. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he raised a trembling hand. His reflection stared back, a mirror image of his fear but also his resolve. "This has to work," he whispered hoarsely. His voice cracked, not from weakness but from the sheer weight of desperation.

The boy traced a series of intricate runes onto the mirror's surface, his fingers glowing faintly with icy blue light. His expression shifted—panic gave way to fierce concentration, his brows furrowing and his lips moving rapidly as he incanted the spell. Just as the shadowy beast surged forward with a guttural roar, the runes flared brilliantly, filling the labyrinth with blinding light.

And then... everything went black.

---

In another place, another world perhaps, golden sunlight filtered through thin curtains, painting the small room in warm hues. A boy of the same age jolted awake in his bed, his chest rising and falling as if he had been running for his life. His golden blonde hair was tousled, sticking out in every direction from restless sleep. Golden eyes, wide and vivid like molten sunlight, stared at the ceiling as he struggled to catch his breath.

He sat up slowly, his hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the blanket. His gaze flickered around the room, searching for something—anything—that might ground him. His lips parted, and his voice, low and laced with unease, broke the silence. "That dream... it was so vivid."

He rubbed his temples, his fingers digging into the soft strands of his hair as if trying to pull himself back to reality. His expression was a mix of confusion and unease, his brows drawn together as he replayed the fragments of the dream in his mind. His golden eyes flickered with an almost haunted light, lingering on the faint impression of icy blue that felt foreign, yet achingly familiar.

A shiver ran through him, his shoulders tensing involuntarily. He exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair, his movements slow and deliberate as if trying to mask his lingering anxiety. Finally, he looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers as though expecting to see frost clinging to them.

"What was that?" he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible. But even as he asked, he couldn't shake the feeling that the dream was more than just a figment of his imagination.

The golden-haired boy blinked, his heart still racing as fragments of the dream clung to his mind. He sat in silence for a moment longer, running a hand down his face, trying to shake the lingering unease. Then his eyes darted to the clock on the bedside table, and the realization hit him like a cold splash of water.

"Shit, I'm late!" he muttered, his golden eyes widening in panic.

He sprang out of bed, the blanket tangling around his legs for a moment before he kicked it away. His movements were hurried, almost frantic, as he stumbled to his small wardrobe, yanking it open with one hand. Clothes were grabbed in a whirlwind, a rumpled shirt tossed over his head, followed by jeans he struggled to pull on while hopping on one leg. His golden hair, though a mess, wasn't given a second thought as he grabbed his bag from a chair near the door.

His breathing was still uneven, but this time from the rush. His expression was one of urgency mixed with faint annoyance at himself. He muttered under his breath, cursing his inability to wake up on time. As he swung his bag over his shoulder, his hand brushed the edge of his desk, scattering a few pens to the floor. He glanced at them briefly but decided against picking them up, letting out an exasperated sigh. "I'll deal with that later," he said to no one in particular.

Without looking back, he reached for the door handle, pulling it open in a single motion and stepping out into the hallway. Behind him, the room fell silent, save for the faint creak of the door swinging shut.

Unseen by him, the mirror on the wall shimmered faintly. The reflection wasn't his. It was the boy from the dream—the one with icy silver hair and piercing blue eyes. The boy's face held a sorrowful expression, his lips pressed into a thin line as if he wanted to speak but couldn't. His gaze followed the golden-haired boy as he left, a silent plea hidden in the depths of his icy blue eyes.

The golden-haired boy, oblivious to the figure in the mirror, hurried down the hallway, his footsteps echoing against the wooden floor. His movements were brisk, his shoulders slightly hunched as if he could outrun the uneasy feeling lingering at the back of his mind. A faint furrow remained between his brows, the dream still a ghost at the edge of his thoughts. But the urgency of the morning pushed it aside, forcing him to focus on the day ahead.

The room, now empty, seemed colder without him. The figure in the mirror lingered a moment longer before fading away, leaving the surface blank—just another ordinary reflection waiting to be seen.