By the time I realized the mirrors had spread too far to be contained, they no longer belonged to us.
They belonged to rumor.
In the streets, people didn't speak my name. They didn't even whisper it. Everything traced back to a single figureone far more convenient to blame, praise, or curse.
Eldren Vaelor.
"Have you seen Eldren's mirrors?" "They say he refuses to sell to other merchants." "Of course he doesn't… monopoly makes gold flow faster." "If you're not rich, you don't deserve to see yourself clearly."
I heard it all while walking through Ayer, hood low, steps slow. The words followed me like smoke, curling into places they didn't belong.
No one mentioned a duke's child. No one spoke of loyalty tests or political schemes.
The rumors weren't sharp enough for that.
They were worse.
They were resentful.
Eldren's mirrors had become a symbolof wealth, of exclusion, of control. A luxury that did not pretend to be fair. And people hated that honesty.
What unsettled me wasn't the anger itself.
It was how fast it spread.
Reports arrived daily. Other cities are attempting to replicate the mirrors. Inferior glass flooding markets. Warped reflections blamed on curses. Eye strain blamed on "cheap enchantments." Scholars arguing in public halls over light and angles as if they'd discovered something new.
They hadn't.
They were only catching up.
The mirror had done something no one expectedit established a standard. Once people saw themselves clearly, they refused to accept distortion again.
And standards, I learned quickly, are dangerous things.
Pressure followed success like a shadow. Merchant coalitions murmuring about inspections. Calls for oversight. Subtle threats wrapped in polite language. Eldren complained nonstop, of courseabout idiots scratching glass, about fools bending reflections the wrong way, about how everyone wanted the result but none understood the work.
For once, he wasn't wrong.
I ran the numbers in my head again and again.
This wasn't something I could fix quietly.
So I went to my father.
Not as a creator. Not as a mastermind.
As a sponsor.
I explained it carefully Eldren's invention, the guild's structure, the controlled distribution. How scarcity was being mistaken for manipulation. How resentment was fermenting into instability.
Patrick listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he leaned back, fingers steepled.
"And Eldren's profit?" he asked.
"He wants compensation for the solution," I replied. "And legitimacy."
My father exhaled through his nose, almost amused.
"At least he's honest."
He acted swiftly. Not by defending the mirrorsbut by defending order.
A declaration followed. Eldren's workshop was legitimized. The mirrors were declared non-magical. Regulation was imposed… not to restrict production, but to silence speculation. Inspections vanished overnight. Rumors collapsed under the weight of authority.
Truth hadn't won.
Power had.
Walking away from that meeting, I understood something I hadn't before.
Influence doesn't announce itself. It reveals itselfusually when it's already too late to deny.
Later, word reached me that scholars were experimenting with curved glass. That artisans were asking Eldren about "focused reflection." That he was ranting, half-excited, half-furious, about idiots trying to bend light without understanding it.
I smiled, just a little.
The mirror had taught the world how to look.
The next thing it would teach them was how to see.
I said nothing. Planned nothing aloud. The time wasn't right yet.
But as I watched my reflection that nightclear, undistorted, mercilessly honestI understood the cost of what I was doing.
If I wanted freedom, real freedom, I would need more than ideas.
I would need structures. Voices. And patience.
And for now…
I would remain unseen.