[POV: Ezekiel]
He felt it before it began.
The shift.
Not in temperature, not in sound.
But in direction.
It was as if the world had momentarily forgotten which way time was supposed to move.
---
The hallway curved, the floor glossy beneath their feet, and the walls—now mirrors—flickered with slow-blooming light.
But the mirrors didn't show him.
Not exactly.
They showed versions.
Possibilities.
Or maybe—
Timelines.
---
The first one passed.
He saw himself surrounded by Watchers, hands bound in glyphwire.
He blinked. It was gone.
Next:
A rooftop.
City below, on fire.
Wings behind him—black and endless.
---
Ilhera's voice was low.
> "The Archive is dreaming of you."
He nodded, but didn't speak.
Because his eyes were already locked on the next panel.
---
This one didn't move like the others.
It didn't flicker.
It waited.
Inside it:
He stood in a broken plain, older—the age he wasn't yet.
The sky was a swirling storm of ink and concept-light.
And before him stood a boy.
Taller than him.
Broad-shouldered.
Bleeding.
Sword in hand.
> Casamir.
---
The name slipped from his mouth before he realized it.
Not loud. Not sure.
Just… spoken.
Ilhera turned.
> "Who?"
He blinked.
His throat tightened.
He looked again.
Casamir hadn't moved in the vision.
But Ezekiel felt something.
Like deja vu sharpened to a blade.
> "I… I don't know," he said.
"But I think I've met him. Or… I will. I don't—"
(he hesitated)
"It's like I've already lived this. But not yet."
---
Ilhera's brows furrowed.
> "A Conceptal echo?"
> "No."
(softly)
"It feels deeper. Like I was there… long ago. Or I will be again."
He turned from the mirror, unsettled.
But it followed him.
Not physically.
Conceptually.
---
More scenes unfolded as they walked.
Flashes of Amelia.
Of Kael standing at the edge of a wordless battlefield.
Of Ilhera, staring down a mirror like it had betrayed her.
Of Ezekiel.
Changing.
Bleeding black light.
Speaking a sentence that bent the air—
And broke the sun.
---
The final panel was blank.
It shimmered, then wrote:
> "Definition Pending."
---
Ezekiel stared into the blankness.
And for a moment, his own eyes reflected back—
But not as they were.
They were older.
Sharper.
And deeply, terrifyingly calm.
As if the boy in the mirror already knew how this story ends.
---
Ilhera stepped beside him.
> "This mirror doesn't show you.
It shows what the world expects you to become."
He didn't answer.
Because in the silence that followed…
He could hear his own voice again.
Not aloud.
Not remembered.
But pre-spoken.
Whispering into the mirror's reflection:
> "This isn't prophecy.
This is the part where I choose whether it comes true."