Dawn smiled on the fresh faces of the Millionth and Fifth the morning after their narrow escape from Midnah-Dogu. They had risen early, eating a hearty breakfast of fresh bread from the night before. Somehow, those loaves never grew cold and always tasted as fresh as when they were first pulled from the oven. It was something Keon looked forward to every morning. They’d made quick progress, trudging through the deep valleys of Meshech. Unlike before, there were no efforts to stick close to the forests, bushes, or long grass. They walked boldly out in the open as if there were no viable threats.

Keon tightened his harness and picked up his pace, Asya and Zahara eyeing him curiously as he went. Realising they were both watching him, they swiftly tore their gazes away.

Dawit had been fully restored to his old self ever since they’d met up with Wellworn. He trod through the grass with a spring in his step, his chin raised to the horizon. Keon hop-skipped to draw up alongside him.

“Hey Dawit, you got a minute?” he asked in hushed tones.

“Always,” he beamed.

‘Always’ except for the time they’d first entered Midnah-Dogu and he had little time for his questions. Even still, he’d started to wonder whether Dawit getting stricken was partially his fault. He glanced from side-to-side, making sure no one else was listening in.

“Does Wellworn have a name?”

“Yeah,” Dawit chuckled. “Wellworn.”

Keon frowned with impatience.

“Don’t gas, bro. Everywhere we go, someone calls him something different. ‘Dawn-Son’, ‘Harlot’s Son’, ‘Scarred Warrior.’ What’s his real name?”

“What makes you think ‘Wellworn’ isn’t his real name?” said Dawit with feigned bewilderment.

Keon popped a shrug.

“Might be, might not. Sounds to me like a nickname or an alias. Like ‘Strider’ or ‘Elessar’”

“What and what?”

“Come on fam! Lord of the Rings! Aragorn!”

Dawit raised an eyebrow.

“Brother, you’re just throwing random words at me…”

Keon clawed his face in impatience.

“He was a descendent of the sons of Elendil and heir to the thrones of Gondor and Arnor, raised by Elves and had his name changed to ‘Estel’ to hide his identity from Sauron.”

Dawit frowned.

“I mean Wellworn wasn’t raised by Elves, but…”

“I’m just sayin’! It’s a comparison!” he took a deep breath and grabbed his composure, realising the others were starting to look. He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Look, what I’m sayin’ is, in Lord of the Rings, Aragorn went by different names to hide who he was. I think Wellworn’s doing the same. I don’t think that’s his real name.”

Dawit almost swallowed his eyes with that cherubic smile of his.

“Well, why don’t you ask him?”

* * *

He’d never asked him. Part of him hadn’t wanted to know; to admit what now seemed so obvious. Hence, he was running. Running away from the truth; from the thought that had been haunting him ever since that day in Meshech. He’d had his suspicions before but faced with the truth he’d found himself shaken to the core.

Dawn-Son. Harlot’s Son. Scarred Warrior. Wellworn. He had another name; a name Keon knew well. The last name he would have expected him to have. It didn’t make sense. It went against everything he thought he knew about the world. Not that being in Underland hadn’t already taken his conception of what was real and turned it on its head. But this was different. This wasn’t just something he could ignore or sweep under the proverbial rug. This was a reality; a living, breathing question he’d literally stepped into. A world of unimaginable imagination made concrete before his eyes. And he knew. If this was true, he had to make a choice. He couldn’t just turn away and he sure as hell couldn’t go back. And so, he was running. Maybe if he ran far enough, the truth wouldn’t catch him.

He ran down the meandering path that led up to the sycamore fig, tore through the humid rainforest, then turned and ran in a direction other than the one they had come from. They would expect him to go that way and he didn’t want to be followed.

More time passed than he cared to take note of. Eventually he found himself standing by a wide pool fed by a trickling stream that ran down the adjacent hill before dribbling off the edge of a small cliff. This was as good a place as any to catch his breath.

Stooping down, he splashed water over his face, cupped his hands, and drank deeply. There were things he hated about Underland, but man did he love the water! He let his hands droop to his knees and stared into the rippling surface of the pool, waiting for his reflection to stabilise. He looked past the mirror-image of his shoulders, down into the empty trees and sighed in relief.

“Keon!”

He jumped and his shoulders sank. Every. Single. Time.

He turned wearily as Asya clawed her way into the clearing, tired droplets of sweat trickling down her forehead.

“He told you where to find me, didn’t he?” he said.

She nodded.

“Flip sake…” he muttered, returning to stare at his reflection.

“I don’t get it. I thought this was what you wanted?” she asked, stepping forward.

He shook his head.

“This isn’t what I came here for, Asya. This is…I ain’t got time for this! Neither does he.”

Her brow rippled.

“What do you mean?”

He turned to her and a chill flushed through her body. A fractured vulnerability was crossing his face and glistening in his eyes.

All of a sudden, the water came alive. His reflection erupted from the pool, grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him into the water.

“KEOOON!”

She scrambled to the edge of the pool, her fingers gripping the earth, and stared into the shallow, still waters.

He was gone.

* * *

Keon barely had time to gasp for air before the water slapped him in the face. He felt his ears pop, air rush past his face, then the fluid in his body suddenly pool towards his back. All his weight seemed to shift and rather than sinking through the water, he found himself spinning up and over through the air before being slammed onto dry ground. For a moment he lay motionless, groaning, before attempting to roll onto his side. He couldn’t move. Something was pinning him down by the shoulders and he barely had the strength to do anything. Slowly, he opened his eyes—and his own brown eyes stared back at him.

He jerked to attention, still pinned fast. The Mirror looked down at him, a flash of white light glinting deep in its pupils, and a wider-than-life smile crawling across its face. His face.

“Focus on yourself too much and you might just attract your Mirror. They can travel through reflections.”

Bloody hell, he thought. Kai was right.

“Found you,” it hissed.

Suddenly, he was wrenched up and dragged across the ground by the scruff of his hood. His eyes rolled back in his skull as a spell of dizziness showered over him. When they re-opened, everything had grown darker. Wisps of orange, red and purple tinted the sky-ocean that peeked through the canopy. Zaphon was setting. Had he blacked out? He tried moving, lifting an arm at least but all strength had left him.

“Where’re…where’ryou takin’ me?” he slurred.

“No idea, fam,” came the response, like a weird echo. Hearing his own voice reflected back at him in words he hadn’t even spoken was disorientating, as though someone else was controlling his body. “What I do know is I had to find you. Now that I’ve found you, we’re gonna talk.”

Keon felt himself being yanked violently backwards. The next thing he knew he’d been flung into a tree trunk. He slumped to the ground, dazed. This thing was so strong it was unreal. He couldn’t lift someone his own weight let alone fling them one-handed. As his head dangled onto his chest, he slowly peeled his eyes open. The Mirror was squatting a few paces in front of him smiling. On its face, his smile looked sinister. Scheming.

“That outfit looks stupid, bruv,” it said.

“I like it,” he groaned.

“Course you do. It’s the kind of stupid thing you’d like.”

Keon looked around. They were in the midst of a clearing, trees walling them in all around. He pushed himself up slightly against the tree trunk.

“It’s not safe out here when it gets dark,” he croaked.

“I’ve made it this far without your help. I don’t need it now.” It suddenly belched and cradled its stomach. “Although, to be fair, you could’ve at least eaten something before you left. Damn!”

Keon frowned. This thing was far more intelligent than he’d thought. In some unnerving way, it really was like staring into a mirror, albeit a twisted one. Its skin was dull and dry, almost grey. It looked as though it had only recently been exposed to light for the first time. It was still caked all over with dirt and had only a filthy rag for clothing. Its hair hung long as though it’d never been cut, the strands stuck together in matted, muddy locks, reaching down to its backside.

“Right—so—like I said, we need to talk.”

“About what?” said Keon.

“About why we’re here.”

“You mean, ‘cause of my Dad?”

The Mirror slowly shook its head.

“Our Dad. And nah, before that.”

Keon wobbled the confusion from his face.

“We weren’t here before that.”

“We were,” the Mirror nodded.

It stared up at the canopy, grinning.

“We had a whole life here in Underland. In the Stronghold. Things were good. We were one. We were in sync. Then something happened. One day, I woke up in chains. Nothing made sense anymore…until you arrived that is. That’s when I realised. You’re part of me. The other part of me. Some way, somehow, something had split us apart.”

Keon shuffled in his spot, twisting his aching body to the side.

“I thought you’re part of me?” he said.

The Mirror leapt up and landed in front of him, making him jolt.

“Ah well, that’s the question init? Which comes first, the chicken or the egg? The body or consciousness? The man or the Mirror? What if I’m the truth and you’re the reflection?”

“That ain’t it,” Keon scoffed, shaking his head. “I exist back home. You don’t.”

The Mirror’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t I?”

It looked from left to right, down to the ground, then stamped on a stray, sharp rock.

“AARGGH! Mother…” Keon jerked, grasping his foot.

The Mirror cocked its head to one side and chuckled.

“You see? I injured my foot, but you felt it. Why d’you think that is?”

“Ahhh!” Keon grimaced, “How’re you able to fling me around like that then? Why doesn’t it hurt you?”

The Mirror pursed its lips and shrugged, looking around.

“It’s different when it’s done to us, I think. Something hits you; I feel it. I hit you, something else happens,” it crouched down again. “But do you get it now? Every time you’ve ever felt something; you’re hungry, you’re thirsty, you’re tired, you’re—y’know—” it said, gesturing with a nod to the side. “That’s me. Your impulses. Your instincts. I’m more connected to the real world than you are.”

Keon’s eyes flickered, searching his thoughts.

“And if that’s true, then I think it stands to reason that I came first,” said the Mirror, palms pressed to the chest. “I mean, think about it; do you remember being in the womb? Do you remember being born?”

Keon shook his head.

“Well, I do. Sounds. Tastes. Smells. I remember all of it. Every touch. Every scratch. Every itch. It’s like I have a record,” it said, putting an index finger to its temple like a gun. “And let’s be honest, most of the things you want are actually what I want.”

“What do you want?”

The Mirror smiled that Cheshire Cat grin and spread his arms wide.

“I just want things to go back to the way they were! Same as you. I want us to be happy. I want Dad to come home, for Zahara to like us…”

Keon scoffed looking away.

“I don’t think she’ll like you…”

The Mirror’s eyes narrowed, and its arms dropped.

“Oh, but you think she’ll like you, yeah? She don’t even know you. Not really. But she got a glimpse—that night when you and me met in the forest by the pool. Remember?”

The Mirror drummed its fingers on its chin.

“Now, if I remember correctly, she didn’t quite like what she saw, did she?”

“She saw you, not me,” Keon said, his fingers clenching the grass beneath him.

“Don’t act stupid! You and I both know that how I look on the outside is a reflection of what’s going on on your inside,” It cupped its hands over its mouth, stifling a snicker. “So, if I’m a mess, it’s ‘cause you’re a mess, bruv!”

Keon’s clawed fingers raked the grass and dirt. That’s what Wellworn said. Did the Mirror know that because he did?

“You’re lying. That’s you, not me.”

The Mirror sat cross-legged, wagging a finger at his nose.

“But see, that’s the one thing you do that I don’t. I don’t lie, fam. I always tell the truth and you always twist it. When I said those lot couldn’t help you—that you had to help yourself—I didn’t make no damn excuses about it afterwards. That was all you. I said it as it is.”

Keon averted his eyes from the Mirror’s sneer, his gaze sweeping the forest floor.

“Peeps don’t like people like you, ‘cause you ain’t honest. You always try an’ hide and wear a mask. They like people who are upfront, who are real. Rough ‘round the edges. You’re tryna keep your edges too clean, bruv. That’s why I’m gonna take over.”

Keon looked up, wide-eyes alert beneath his bent brow.

“What?”

Scratching his chin, the Mirror looked around at nothing.

“‘Cause, I was tryna figure it out. What went wrong. What changed. Then I realised…it’s that book you’re hiding behind your back. Whoever gave you that book split us apart and gave you control—which means the way to fix this mess is to get it back. I need it to reunite us,” it turned back to stare at Keon. “Trust me, it’s what’s best for both of us.”

Bit by bit, Keon inched his left arm beneath his shawl and towards the harness.

“Y’know what I think?” the Mirror continued. “I think I’m the truth and you’re the lie. You’re the mask that keeps me hidden when I’m the one that keeps us alive. I’m the one that keeps us safe. You wanna fight for Dad? Well, who do you think’s been fighting all this time? All you do is read an’ think an’ cry an’ moan. I get things done fam! You just sit there dreaming about Zahara when I can just…”

Keon flinched forward.

“Whadidyou say?!”

“What?” said the Mirror, affronted. “You think you’re the part that likes her? You really think you like her mind or her personality when the first thing you noticed was how she looked? I was there. I know what I saw, and I know what we like…”

“You better shut your mouth, fam…”

“And what do you think she saw in you? You really think it was your knowledge of books and not your sweet-boy, light-skin face? You think she was impressed ‘cause you knew where a flippin’ hospital would be built in the 1800’s rather than the fact that you bashed Gabriel Reed’s face in? I was right there!” the Mirror said, accentuating each word with a thump of its chest. “Girls ain’t like that, bruv! They don’t want you! They want me! I’m the part that hooks them! I’m the part that gets things done!”

Keon’s shoulders heaved as he stared down at the ground between his legs.

“I don’t see you savin’ Dad…” he muttered.

The Mirror flinched a frown.

“You what?”

“Yeah, you heard me! ‘Cause you don’t think! You just feel and eat and act—like a flippin’ animal! You’re a moron!”

The words had barely escaped his mouth when the Mirror’s bony hand clamped around his throat like a vice. Any other witty remarks he’d stored up inside didn’t make it past his tongue as he was hauled off the ground; the Mirror rearing up to its full height.

“I’m flippin’ strong fam! You wanna see?!”

Keon flew through the air, across the clearing to the other side, and smashed into a tree trunk. He rolled onto the ground and didn’t move. The Mirror stomped towards him, breathing heavily.

“You think you can fight? You ain’t even seen me at my best, bro!”

It flung Keon off the ground and onto his back then stood over him, its legs straddling his body.

“And when I’m done with you, I’m gonna be the one making the decisions!”

His entire skull rattled and his vision sparkled white as the first fist connected with his jaw. He felt the warmth of iron-laced crimson drip from the corner of his mouth. The second fist snapped his head the opposite way, and this time he saw his blood fly. So, you could bleed in Underland. Each time a fist connected it was like his brain short-circuited. He couldn’t think straight. He’d been punched before, but this was different. Every blow shook something loose in his core and his entire sense of self seemed to suffer. Was this what it felt like to die? To have the life beaten out of you? Was this it? Was he about to die?

But then something happened. The rain of blows suddenly stopped. He coughed and spluttered, then inched a swelling eye open. The Mirror stood over him, arms hanging at its sides and sweat dripping from its brow. Laboured breaths heaved from its chest as it hunched over.

“When…was the last time…you bloody ate?” It gasped.

Keon felt strength returning to his body, the swelling on his face dying down. How the heck was this happening? Jeez. Did it even matter?

The Mirror stumbled back, out of breath. Keon began scrambling backwards. The weaker the Mirror was becoming, the stronger he seemed to be getting. As it dropped to one knee, he was able to hop backwards onto his feet.

“I dunno what this is, but I like it,” he said, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his wrist.

“That’s not fair…” croaked the Mirror, staring at its trembling hands. “Don’t you dare!…You can’t leave me like this!”

Keon pursed his bottom lip in thought.

“Y’know…I think I just might.”

He turned and ran into the forest.