Kael approached the cracked mirror cautiously, every muscle in his body tensed. He could feel it now—the same unnatural weight in the air, the same faint pull of magic that had dissolved the moon dust.
Specters didn't kill without reason. They were bound to something—unfinished business, a grudge, an object anchoring them to the living world. And in this case…
The mirror.
He studied its surface. Despite the cracks, the reflection was oddly clear, almost too perfect. As if the glass were something else entirely. A doorway rather than a simple pane. The father had known. He had tried to destroy it—but failed.
Kael's fingers twitched toward his silver dagger. This wasn't just some restless soul. It was an entity tied to the mirror—perhaps even born from it.
A Bound Specter.
Not an ordinary wraith, not a noonwraith or a nightwraith. Something older. A thing of curses, binding magic, and twisted reflections.
Kael exhaled slowly. He had fought ghosts before and he hoped that this time was no different.
He left the house, pushing past the growing tension in his chest. The streets outside were quieter than before—word of the massacre had spread. The guards standing near the entrance stiffened at his approach, the captain was among them, waiting impatiently, his face pale beneath his helmet.
"Well?" He demanded. "Bandits? Nilfgaardian stragglers? Something worse?"
Kael wiped the last traces of moon dust from his gloves. "Specter."
The captain swore under his breath. Some of the men visibly blanched.
Kael continued, his tone steady. "Not a wraith. Something stronger. Bound to an object—a mirror inside the house. That's why there was no blood, no sign of forced entry. The thing came from within."
Jorhan ran a hand down his face. "And you're sure? It wasn't just… some murderer using magic?"
Kael's stare was unwavering. "A murderer doesn't steal souls."
Silence.
The men shifted uncomfortably, one even mutter a quiet prayer under his breath.
He exhaled sharply. "Fine. What needs to be done?"
Kael rolled his shoulders, already thinking ahead. "It's anchored to the mirror. Destroying that could work, but if it's an old curse, it won't be that easy. If I break it outright, it might simply jump to another reflective surface."
The captain scowled. "Then how do you kill it?"
Kael's gaze drifted toward the house. Night was approaching. That's when spirits were strongest. He'd have to draw it out. Force it to manifest. Bait it into attacking.
He turned back to the captain. "I'll handle it tonight. Keep your men away from the house. If this goes wrong, you don't want them anywhere near it."
Jorhan hesitated but eventually nodded. "Just kill the damn thing, Witcher. I don't want to deal with ghosts on top of riots and deserters."
Kael gave a short nod and turned away, already running through preparations in his mind. Back at the ruined house, Kael set to work.
First, the oils.
He pulled out his vials and coated his silver dagger in specter oil. He did the same with his steel sword coated in silver, coating it in a mix of relict oil and specter oil. Normally, steel wouldn't work well against specters but if this creature was anchored to a physical object, steel might still wound it even more thanks to the silver in it.
Second, the signs.
He traced a Yrden circle around the mirror—a spectral trap. If the entity emerged, the sign would force it to take a corporeal form.
He reinforced the room further, placing small mirrors face-down and covering reflective surfaces with cloth. No escape.
Finally, the bait.
Kael stood before the mirror, rolling his shoulders, focusing his breath.
Then he drew his silver dagger and carved a shallow cut across his palm. The blood dripped, staining the wooden floor. He watched his reflection carefully. Nothing.
Then—a whisper. Faint at first. A voice like cracking glass. A chill rolled through the air. Kael inhaled deeply, gripping his sword.
It was coming.
A shudder passed through the air, the temperature plummeting in an instant. Kael tightened his grip on his sword as the shadows within the ruined home stretched unnaturally, shifting, warping—moving.
Then, the specter emerged.
At first, it was only a distorted reflection in the mirror, barely more than a flickering shape of pale light. But as the Yrden trap took hold, the thing solidified.
A woman. Or rather, the twisted memory of one.
Her face was half-obscured by a veil of black mist, but Kael could make out hollow eyes—pits of empty sorrow. Her dress, once fine, was now tattered, blending into the darkness pooling at her feet.
But it was her hands that stood out.
Long, jagged fingers—too sharp, too wrong—like shards of broken glass. They twitched with unnatural precision as she hovered above the floor, her body flickering between states of existence.
Kael exhaled slowly. This was no ordinary specter.
She tilted her head, lips parting slightly. A faint whisper crawled through the air, a voice fractured and disjointed.
"My... beauty...my unmatch beauty"
Then, she lunged.
Kael barely sidestepped in time, the air splitting as her claws slashed past his face. He struck out with his sword, but she twisted midair, dissolving into mist.
She reformed behind him. Fast. Smarter than a nightwraith.
Kael rolled forward just as her claws raked across his back, the tips grazing his shoulder. Pain flared—but then, something unexpected happened.
A thin layer of frost spread across her hand.
She jerked back, a horrid shriek escaping her throat as the frost cracked along her form, splintering like glass. For a moment, she was stuck, frozen in place—her movements sluggish.
Kael's eyes narrowed. His ice. It was weak—barely a trace of the power he had used before—but it was enough.
He didn't hesitate.
Kael stepped in, driving his silver dagger into her chest. The blade sank deep, cutting through the ethereal form as she let out a piercing, wailing cry.
But she wasn't done.
The specter twisted, forcing herself free—a slash of her claws ripping through his side. Kael gritted his teeth, feeling the burn of spectral corruption seeping into his wound.
She retreated toward the mirror.
Kael's eyes widened. No.
If she got back inside, she could flee. Recover. Maybe even anchor herself somewhere else.
He couldn't let that happen.
Kael surged forward, ignoring the pain, ignoring the cold creeping up his spine.
The specter's form wavered as she reached the glass. Almost there.
Kael swung.
His steel sword—coated in specter oil—slammed into the mirror.
The glass shattered.
A sound like screaming metal and breaking ice filled the room as cracks of white light split across the specter's body.
She let out a final, wretched wail—a sound of pure agony. Cracks of spectral light splintered across her form, her essence unraveling like shattered glass caught in a storm.
But she wasn't gone.
With the last remnants of her strength, the specter turned, her broken form flickering toward a small, silver hand mirror resting on a nearby shelf. Her fractured body lurched, drawn toward it—desperate to anchor herself, to escape.
Kael's eyes narrowed. Not this time.
He moved.
A single step forward, blade raised—and then he struck.
The silver edge of his sword cleaved through the mirror and the spirit in one motion, shattering both into nothingness.
A final, piercing shriek ripped through the air.
Then, silence.
The room felt lighter. The weight of the presence—the suffocating, cold dread—was gone.
Kael exhaled, lowering his blade. It was over.
'Finally'