Chadwick Rye

The grand hall of the Luminous A

cademy hummed with the energetic chaos of midday. Students in various states of magical study crowded around long tables, their voices rising and falling like the tides as they debated arcane theories and practice. Through the tall windows, sunlight streamed in rays that seemed almost solid enough to grasp, illuminating motes of dust and the occasional wisp of errant spell-smoke.

Cyril Shadowbrook sat alone at the far end of an oak table worn smooth by generations of elbow-polishing, a half-eaten apple forgotten beside his grimoire. His slender fingers traced the edge of a polished silver disk no larger than his palm, a Reflective Glass, one of the Academy’s most coveted communication devices. The mirror’s surface rippled like disturbed water as he focused his intentions upon it.

“Show me Sylvia,” he whispered, infusing the command with a thread of his essence.

The silver surface clouded momentarily before clearing to reveal a young woman with copper-bright hair gathered in a practical braid. She appeared to be in the midst of an animated conversation, though no sound accompanied the image. Noticing the telltale glow of an incoming connection, Sylvia’s eyes, green as spring leaves, widened with recognition. She excused herself from her companions and moved to a quieter corner of what appeared to be an apothecary shop.

“Cyril?” Her voice emerged from the mirror with perfect clarity, though slightly tinged with the crystalline resonance characteristic of mirror-speech. “Is something wrong? Our regular connection isn’t scheduled until sundown.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he assured her quickly, lowering his voice as a group of first-year students passed by his table, their apprentice robes still crisp with newness. “Master Ironwood announced an impromptu field study this afternoon. We’re headed to the Whispering Caves to observe echo-magic formations. I won’t be able to connect at our usual time.”

Sylvia’s reflection nodded, understanding replacing concern in her expression. “The caves are where you collected those resonant crystals last autumn, yes? The ones that amplify emotional imprints?”

“The very same. I’m hoping to gather more, they’ve proven quite useful in my thesis experiments.” He hesitated, running a hand through his dark hair, a gesture of uncertainty he rarely permitted himself. “I missed speaking with you yesterday.”

A smile warmed her features. “And I, you. Though I must say, these daily connections are causing quite a stir in Frosthollow. The village council is convinced I’ve been secretly betrothed to some high-born mage.” She laughed, the sound carrying through the mirror with a slight echo. “Old Matron Oakwood actually cornered me after the Harvest Meeting to ask if she should begin preparing wedding herbs.”

Cyril felt heat rise to his cheeks. “You could always tell them the truth, that we’re merely colleagues in arcane research.”

“Colleagues who somehow find reason to share mundane details of their days through some of the rarest magical artifacts in the realm?” Sylvia raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Besides, the rumor of my mysterious suitor has granted me unprecedented access to the council’s historical records. They’re suddenly quite eager to impress the ‘future lady mage’ with stories of Frosthollow’s illustrious past.”

A shadow fell across Cyril’s table. He glanced up to find Magistra Moonshadow looming over him, her silver-streaked hair pulled into a severe knot that seemed to stretch her already sharp features to knife-edge precision.

“Apprentice Shadowbrook,” she intoned, her voice carrying the weight of authority that had cowed generations of students, “I believe Reflective Glasses are restricted to academic and emergency communications only.”

“Yes, Magistra,” Cyril replied, straightening his posture automatically. “I was informing Herbalist Winterbrook about a schedule change affecting our joint research on resonant crystal applications in medicinal preparations.”

Sylvia, who could hear but not see the interruption, quickly added, “Indeed, Magistra. I’ve been documenting the vibrational effects of enchanted crystals on various tincture potencies. Quite fascinating results, I’d be happy to share my observations if you’re interested.”

Magistra Moonshadow’s severe expression softened marginally. “Interdisciplinary research is to be commended.” She nodded once, then fixed Cyril with a knowing look. “However, such communications should be concluded promptly when the necessary information has been exchanged. Academy resources are not unlimited.”

“Of course, Magistra. Just concluding now.”

As the intimidating figure glided away to terrorize some other unfortunate student, Cyril leaned closer to the mirror, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“I should go. But before I do, have you had any success with the dream-herb infusion we discussed?”

Sylvia’s eyes lit with excitement. “Beyond expectations. The addition of powdered moonstone created a stability I hadn’t anticipated. The patients report not just clearer dreams but enhanced retention upon waking.” Her expression grew thoughtful. “There’s one unexpected side effect, though: a strange synchronicity between dreamers. Two villagers who took the infusion on the same night reported shared dreamscapes, despite having no prior connection.”

“Fascinating,” Cyril murmured, his mind already racing with implications. “This could relate to my work on collective consciousness networks. Perhaps the moonstone acts as a conduit between…”

“Shadowbrook!” Master Ironwood’s booming voice cut through the hall. “If you intend to join us at the caves, your presence is required at the eastern gate. Immediately!”

“Coming, Master!” Cyril called back, then quickly returned his attention to the mirror. “I have to go. I’ll connect after the expedition, even if it’s late. I want to hear more about this synchronicity effect.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Sylvia promised. “Be careful in those caves. Some echoes are better left undisturbed.”

Her image rippled and faded, leaving Cyril staring at his own reflection. He tucked the Reflective Glass into its protective velvet pouch, then slipped it inside his robe’s inner pocket, close to his heart.

As he hurried across the Academy grounds to join the expedition party, Cyril found himself contemplating the strange path that had led to his daily mirror conversations with Sylvia. What had begun as a formal collaboration between an apprentice mage and a village herbalist had somehow transformed into something far more essential to his daily existence.

The Academy’s strict regulations regarding Reflective Glass usage existed for good reason. The enchanted mirrors were extraordinarily difficult to create, requiring rare materials and complex spellwork that few mages could master. Each one represented months of painstaking craft, and their energy requirements meant they could only sustain limited communications before needing rest in specialized charging chambers.

Most students were permitted to use them only for academic emergencies or sanctioned research communications. Yet somehow, Cyril had managed to secure “extended research privileges” that allowed his regular connections with Sylvia. Master Nightshade, his thesis advisor, had arranged it, though Cyril suspected the elderly mage knew these conversations had evolved beyond purely academic exchanges.

“Ah, Apprentice Shadowbrook deigns to join us,” Master Ironwood remarked dryly as Cyril arrived at the eastern gate, slightly out of breath. “I trust your urgent mirror communication has concluded satisfactorily?”

“Yes, Master,” Cyril replied, falling into step beside the expeditionary group of eight students and two masters. “My apologies for the delay.”

“Your collaboration with the herbalist from Frosthollow has yielded some intriguing results,” Ironwood observed as they passed through the Academy’s outer wards, the protective magic tingling against their skin like static before recognizing them as authorized to exit. “Magistra Blackthorn was quite impressed by your joint presentation at the Equinox Symposium.”

Cyril felt a flush of pride warm his neck. “Sylvia, that is, Herbalist Winterbrook, deserves most of the credit. Her intuitive understanding of botanical resonances has proven invaluable to my theoretical framework.”

“Indeed.” The master’s knowing glance suggested he perceived more than Cyril might wish. “Such complementary perspectives often yield the most profound discoveries. Though I cannot help but note the Academy’s Reflective Glass usage logs show an unusual pattern of connections to Frosthollow in recent months.”

Before Cyril could formulate a response that wouldn’t incriminate him further, a fellow student called Master Ironwood away to settle a dispute about proper cave-entering protocols. Cyril exhaled with relief, though he knew the conversation was merely postponed, not avoided.

The truth was, Cyril himself didn’t fully understand why his daily conversations with Sylvia had become so essential. They had met at the Regional Symposium of Practical Magics nearly a year ago, when his presentation on crystalline resonance patterns had directly followed her demonstration of enhanced herbal preparations. Their subsequent discussion had revealed surprising overlaps in their work, despite their vastly different training and backgrounds.

What had begun as occasional scholarly correspondence via traditional message-birds had evolved into regular mirror communications after their first joint experiment proved wildly successful. Now, he found himself inventing increasingly tenuous research justifications for their daily conversations, which wandered far beyond academic topics into personal histories, philosophical debates, and shared observations of the world’s small wonders.

As the expedition crested the hill that would lead them down to the Whispering Caves, Cyril found his hand drifting to the pocket containing the Reflective Glass. Even inactive, it seemed to radiate a comforting warmth, a tether to someone who understood him in ways his fellow Academy students never had.





The expedition returned well after midnight, their collection bags filled with promising specimens. Cyril’s robes were smudged with cave dust, and his hair carried the distinctive ionized scent of echo magic, but his spirits soared with discovery. The resonant crystals he’d gathered would advance his research significantly, and provide the perfect excuse for continued lengthy communications with Sylvia.

Most students headed directly to their quarters, exhaustion evident in their dragging steps. Cyril, however, made his way to one of the small meditation alcoves that dotted the Academy’s western tower. These spaces were rarely used at this hour and offered the privacy necessary for mirror communication.

Setting his collection satchel carefully aside, he settled onto the cushioned bench and withdrew the Reflective Glass. The mirror seemed to pulse with anticipation as he cradled it in his palms, focusing his intention.

“Show me Sylvia,” he whispered, the familiar words carrying both command and plea.

The surface remained cloudy longer than usual, and for a moment, Cyril feared she had given up waiting and retired for the night. Then, gradually, the mist cleared to reveal not Sylvia’s face but a starry night sky. The mirror’s perspective shifted downward to show Sylvia sitting on what appeared to be a rooftop, wrapped in a woolen cloak against the autumn chill.

“There you are,” she said, relief evident in her voice. “I was beginning to worry the caves had swallowed you whole.”

“Nearly did,” Cyril admitted. “Master Ironwood insisted we map a newly discovered chamber. The echo-formations there were unlike anything I’ve ever seen, overlapping resonance patterns that created auditory illusions so convincing that half our group thought we were being addressed by the mountain itself.”

Sylvia leaned closer to her mirror, her features illuminated by moonlight and what appeared to be a small mage-light hovering nearby. “Were you affected as well?”

“At first,” he acknowledged. “But I recognized the harmonic signatures from our work with the dream infusion. Similar vibrational patterns, though much more intense. Once I understood what was happening, I could filter the illusion somewhat.” He paused, studying her surroundings more carefully. “Are you on your roof?”

She laughed softly. “The village gossips have been particularly persistent today. I needed some privacy for our connection, and this seemed the most expedient solution. Besides,” she gestured to the magnificent canopy of stars above her, “the night is too beautiful to spend indoors.”

Cyril felt a sudden pang of longing to be there beside her, sharing that sky directly rather than through the mirror’s limited perspective. The feeling startled him with its intensity.

“I gathered something for you,” he said, reaching for his satchel. “It’s not strictly necessary for our research, but I thought…” He withdrew a crystal unlike the others, not the common blue-white of resonant formations, but a deep violet that seemed to contain galaxies within its facets. “This was growing in isolation from the main crystal beds. Its resonance pattern is unlike anything I’ve documented before. When I approached it, I heard… well, it’s difficult to describe, but it reminded me of something you once said about the language of plants.”

Sylvia’s eyes widened. “May I see it more closely?”

Cyril held the crystal directly before the mirror. Through the connection, they both gasped as the crystal pulsed with increased luminescence, responding to their combined attention.

“It’s reacting to the mirror magic,” Sylvia whispered. “Or perhaps to our shared focus. Either way, it’s extraordinary.”

“I’ll bring it when I visit for the autumn equinox,” Cyril promised. “We can study it properly then.”

A comfortable silence settled between them, filled with unspoken thoughts. Finally, Sylvia spoke, her voice carrying a note of hesitation unusual for her.

“Cyril, may I ask you something rather personal?”

He nodded, curious at her sudden seriousness.

“These daily connections of ours…” She paused, seeming to search for the right words. “The Academy must monitor the use of such valuable magical artifacts. Surely someone has questioned why an apprentice mage requires such frequent communication with a village herbalist?”

The question pierced directly to the heart of what Cyril had been avoiding examining too closely. “There have been… inquiries,” he admitted. “I’ve maintained that our research collaboration justifies the resource allocation.”

“And is that the truth?” Her eyes held his through the mirror, unwavering and direct. “Is research truly why we speak every day?”

Cyril felt as though he stood at the edge of a precipice, with wisdom counseling caution but something deeper urging him forward. “You know it isn’t,” he said softly. “Not anymore.”

Relief flooded her features. “Good. Because I’ve been constructing increasingly elaborate research questions simply to justify hearing your voice.” She laughed, the sound carrying through the mirror like distant music. “Yesterday I spent an hour detailing the sprouting patterns of moonshade fungi, which neither of us has any practical interest in, simply because I wasn’t ready to end our connection.”

Cyril found himself laughing too, tension dissolving into something lighter. “I counter-proposed three different crystalline classification systems for the same reason.”

Their shared laughter faded into companionable silence. Above Sylvia, stars wheeled in their ancient patterns, while around Cyril, the Academy slumbered, unaware of the quiet revelation unfolding in its meditation alcove.

“What are we doing, Cyril?” Sylvia finally asked, her voice gentle but direct. “Academy regulations restrict these mirrors to academic use for good reason. They’re powerful magical artifacts, not toys for… whatever this is becoming.”

He considered her question seriously, understanding its weight. “The mirrors were created to connect minds across distances, to share knowledge that might otherwise remain isolated. Isn’t that exactly what we’re doing? Perhaps not in the formal academic sense the regulations envision, but…” He hesitated, then continued more boldly. “I believe what passes between us has value. Real value.”

“As do I,” she agreed. “But we should be honest about its nature, at least with ourselves.”

Cyril nodded, feeling something shift between them, a recognition that had been building for months, finally acknowledged. “When I come for the equinox gathering, perhaps we should discuss this further. Face to face, rather than through enchanted silver.”

“I’d like that,” Sylvia said, her smile carrying a warmth that even the mirror’s crystalline resonance couldn’t diminish. “Until then, shall we continue our ‘vital research communications’?”

“Absolutely,” Cyril agreed. “After all, we must document the effects of alpine crystal formations on the dream-synchronicity phenomenon.”

“Precisely. For academic purposes only, of course.”

“Of course.”

As the night deepened around them both, their conversation continued, flowing as naturally as water finding its path downhill, sometimes scholarly, often personal, occasionally philosophical, but always connecting two minds that had somehow discovered in each other a perfect resonance, a harmony that transcended the medium through which it traveled.

The Reflective Glass between them was merely a conduit, Cyril realized, for something far more powerful than any magic taught within Academy walls. the simple, profound connection of two people who had found in each other a missing piece of themselves, across distance, across backgrounds, across the different paths their lives had taken.

Some connections, it seemed, needed no explanation. They simply were, as natural and necessary as breathing.

If you loved this story you can find many more like it in the other volumes of Fleeting Fantasies. They are now on Amazon as Ebooks. The first book is here. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F148V229

You can also pre-order the third volume due out on the 25th here https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F5BZKP94

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