When he was awake, he searched. Poire did not touch the Mirror, dared not even lean on the glass lenses that separated this universe from another.

Instead, Poire controlled the mirror with his thoughts alone. In the Conclave, the Mirrors were static. They never moved.

With Sen’s Mirror, Poire could scan across the vast, incomprehensible expanse of a truly alien landscape. Through the Mirror, the laws of reality were changed beyond his understanding. Force that did not create motion, matter stretching beyond its euclidean bounds. Time and mass held no meaning, or if they did, he could make no sense of them. He could only observe.

Vast celestial bodies soared overhead. They stretched for miles or millions of lightyears across, like tapestries of shimmering color woven together by strands of energy that twinkled and glowed. He could not tell if they were clouds or galaxies. Closer to the ground, or what his brain told him was the ground, Poire saw groups of animals, or something like it, eloping across the distant magenta hills striated with pale and dark tones. But the shape of their dancing leaps was so coordinated, Poire wondered if they were really alive at all. Those shapes might be some other natural phenomena, like the blowing of wind over the waves. Or stars, swirling through the void.

Does this universe even have stars? Where else did all this light and energy arise?

The longer he stared into the Mirror, the more he lost the meaning of distance. In the end, he decided it was neither cloud nor galaxy, judging by the way those twinkling threads twisted themselves down across the sky, more like a plant’s roots than slow-moving lightning.

There were sounds, too. Tectonic sounds, like landmasses grinding against each other. The howling of wind, screaming at nothing. A gentle, distant ring that went in and out of hearing.

But so sign of Sen.

When he could not keep his eyes open, Poire slept. And when he awoke, he relieved himself and ate what little scraps remained from the others’ packs. Then, he closed his eyes, and let his mind slip back into the Mirror.

Once, he thought he saw someone lurking in the corners of his vision. But when he looked, he found only a lone structure that vaguely resembled a tree if every branch grew in identical symmetry with the others. The tree’s body was made of a rough texture, but the closer he looked, the more he saw how even the texture was made of perfectly parallel lines. Lights, like droplets of water, dripped up the branches of the tree. And at the base of the tree, there was a kind of broken statue, broken in half.

No, not a statue. A body.

Sen was cracked in half, from head to toe. Her left side was gone, and where the wound should have been, Poire saw the flesh had calcified into a kind of metallic crystal. Delicate, metallic structures as long as icicles jutted out from her metallic half, growing into each other, and crystals sealed her clothes and skin together.

It wasn’t until she moved, that Poire realized she was still alive.

“Is that you?” she said. There was something about her voice that sounded so different from when they had last spoken. Poire could not imagine how she had survived out here. “Auster, is that you?”

She turned her head, and Poire saw that her one remaining eye was covered up with so much shining crystal. Metallic veins glistened through the skin of her eye socket, spidering out over her face.

“I am not Auster,” Poire answered. “It is me, Poire.”

The unbroken half of Sen took a step back. She stumbled, and the delicate crystals growing out of her face and neck began to shatter. She threw her hand up in front of herself as if to ward him off, and Poire saw she was holding tight to something.

“You,” she said. And now, he could hear the frailness of her voice. Cracked from eons of disuse, broken from this ailment that devoured her body alive. How she spoke, when half her skull was rotted into metal, he didn’t know. “Oh, destroyer. How I have waited countless lifetimes to meet you. But why do you shine so bright?”

“We’ve met,” Poire said. “You said that before?”

“I did? No. I don’t know you. But I have long waited for this moment.”

Perhaps more than just the physical laws were changed.

“Why did you wait for me?” Poire asked.

“I bear you a gift, oh cursed one. I stayed, that I might lend you the freedom that only truth can deliver.”

“What truth?”

“I have seen your future.”

“You can’t even remember meeting me.”

“I have seen it. I have watched you walk my world. I watched you find my Mirror. I watched you live. And then, I watched you die.”

“You are confused,” Poire said. “You cannot see the future.”

“Emorynn did,” Sen said. “Emorynn saw everything. And now I know why.”

There was something in her voice that made him hesitate. He wanted to talk to her, to ask her questions, but this…

There was something dangerous about this.

“What are you talking about?”

“When the three children leave your side, oh, Herald of Infinite Ruin, you will meet death. The machines that killed their makers will find you. Then, they will what they have always done to humans.”

“If they kill me,” Poire said, “They will destroy themselves.”

Sen sounded surprised at that, “Then you already know what you are?”

“I am Poire. I am born of Light.”

“Yes,” she hissed, almost accusing him. “See how bright you shine!”

“But I am also human,” he said, and back in his universe, Poire clenched his fists.

“You are the destroyer himself, the enemy of all existence. I know this. All humankind knows this. But the Swarm does not understand what lives inside you. They see only the surface of your existence, the signs that you are human. They do not see the particles of Light you are made of. They do not know what you are.”

Poire felt it leap inside him. An impossible power, like his skin was only a vessel for the truth of that which lay within. A power that made him shudder just to think of its strength.

“I did not choose this,” he said.

Sen’s face snapped rigidly to face him (though he was not there at all), and instead of breaking off the crystals, more suddenly sprouted from her neck. It was hard to look at her, with all those shining, perfect faces reflecting wildly back at him. What they reflected was only a light that almost blinded Poire to look at. A Light. From where?

“The truth cannot be chosen, child. You have always been what you are. But the question remains: what are you?”

Sen tilted her head back, and closed the one overgrown eye that remained, as if feeling the breeze on her broken face. The moment approaches. I can feel them moving through my world, tearing at the crust and breaking through. The ones we made are coming for you.”

“What should I do?” Poire asked. It took every ounce of Poire’s will to remain connected to the Mirror. If he left, he doubted Sen would live long enough for him to find her again, and he would lose her forever.

“I have seen them arrive, before you and I finish speaking. Fear not. This is why I waited. I will help you escape. I will grant you a piece of the life you should have known.”

Sen opened her crystallized hand, holding up a metal sphere that Poire did not recognize. No hint of crystallization at all, only a smooth, reflective surface. But when her fingers stroked the surface, it left a residue of glowing white that slowly faded through the spectrum of colors.

“I made this,” she said. “While Auster cultivated his new species, I labored over my own creations. We both wanted the same thing: to save ourselves. And, failing that, to save humanity. After ten thousand years, this was all I could do.”

“What is it?” Poire asked.

“The first, and only machine, to go through. It is a simple controller, a medium to project my own impulses back into our universe. It will only work as long as the Mirror shines on me. For long ages did I perfect its design, reducing it to its simplest parts and coating them in—well, the specifics do not matter. When the Swarm comes, you must run to the gate, and I will light your way.”

“Why would you do this for me?”

“Your birthfate was not your choice. You cannot be blamed for what you are. You never had a chance at life, so I will give you what I can—a chance to flee the Swarm, and live a long life. But I warn you, it will never be enough.”

“Where do you think I would go?” Poire said, still on his guard. He couldn’t believe her. Something had clearly damaged her mind.

But the words that came out of her mouth next ran icy chills down his spine.

“You will return to the world of the avians, the one you call Kaya. There, you will live as their god. You will create regeneratives, and you will sustain yourself for several long centuries. You will outlive your friends. You will make new ones. And you will outlive those, too. Eventually, you will find that your regeneratives run low, and you will need to go off world to create more. In principle, you will hate the idea of leaving your home, but time has a way of disconnecting all things. The immortal life lived among mortals will wear thin. The xenos will prosper and the Swarm will not find Kaya, for Auster hid this planet well, and you will begin to age, and you will find it a terrifying prospect. Doubly so, because of what age means to you. Thus, you will set out on a journey across the stars, in search of answers and longer life. It will be lonely. Desperate. Dark. And it will lead you nowhere. You will come to terms with the grim fact that all living things must consider: you will become familiar with death. You will greet death, by your own hand-”

“How long?” Poire said, so soft he could barely hear himself, “How long do I have to live?”

“1353 three years. Six months. Seven days. It is a good, long life. More than most could ever hope for. But each day will be haunted by the knowledge of what you are: a human, born of the Light. A vessel in which its infinite hunger grows. When you leave Kaya, you will spend your days avoiding the Scars and the other places where the Light leaks into our universe, because you will fear to tempt the hunger that grows inside you. I know you cannot believe me, but I have seen it all so clearly. You never had a choice. So I am giving you one. I will guide your path to the gate. Go, and live with your friends, and watch their children grow old. You will always know, in your heart, what awaits you. And it will grow nearer and more dreadful every day. Or, choose the other path. Say the word, and I will kill you now.”

Poire almost pulled back from the Mirror. “What?”

“I will end it for you,” her arm shuddered as she struggled to pull her hand up, lifting the spherical tool high. “I will save you from thirteen centuries of life and misery. It will make no difference, except to you.”

“No.”

“No? Do not be so hasty, Poire. This is the only chance we have-”

“No. There must be another way.”

“There is none.”

“Then I will make one. I don’t care how long it takes.”

“You do not know what it is to be alone, until you have begun to glimpse the merest edge of forever. The disease will never touch you, because you are its vessel. The Scars may not consume the universe for millions of years, but you will not last so long. To be alone, to be the only one, it is unthinkable. Agonizing. You will be crushed under the weight of your own life. There is no escape from this fate, Poire. You will die. And when you do, all the Light will burst into life, just as we have dreamed for eons. That which lives within you will shine over all things. It will be no slow, creeping disease, but a living one that grows even as it devours the planets, the stars, the atoms themselves. Think long and well, Poire. I can save you from the misery. I have witnessed the exact moment of your death. I, and every other human, has dreamed about it for ages,” her voice was almost pleading now. She wasn’t telling him what to do. She was begging him.

“If you can see the future,” Poire said slowly, trying to shove his anger down, so it wouldn’t choke him. “Then you should already know what choice I’m going to make.”

It had a strange effect on her. Poire expected her to argue back, like his caretakers would have. Instead, Sen slumped, a defeated sadness to her posture. She sighed, a rasping cracking sound that cut the wind from her lips. Poire noticed the crystals on her mouth seemed to crawl out with the wind. He could hear the breaking of her heart in every word.

“I do,” she said simply. “I know what choice you will make. I only tried to change it.”

“Oh,” Poire’s mouth fell open. “You tried to change the future.”

“I had to try.”

“Then you truly believe you have seen my future?”

“I have seen it so many times, it is hard to see anything else. Your life plays behind my eyes, more vivid than any memory of my own. It fills my waking thoughts, and drowns out the dreams I once had. I have forgotten his face… my Auster… But I can always see you. Still,” she leaned her head to one side, cracking open the crystals in her neck. “Between the two of us, I am the fortunate one, because I only watch your pain, from afar. You must feel it. I stayed, and held myself together as long as I could. I wanted to give you a way out.”

Thoughts and speculation and questions crashed against each other, storming through Poire’s mind. But the logic would not work itself out, and only one question jutted out of the storm.

“Why?”

“I have tried for so long to change our future. But it can’t be done. This is the truth.”

Poire swallowed. The storm of his mind churned so viciously, his whole body throbbed with it. Or is that some other power, burning inside me?

“Thank you,” Poire said, as quietly as he could.

“You embrace the truth?” Sen’s gaze lifted to the sky, her expression mildly surprised.

“I’m grateful you waited for me. I’m glad I got to say hello.”

“What choice do you make, oh, Herald of destruction?”

“I am not done.”

She nodded, all those metallic crystal scraping against each other. “Leave the Mirror and go now. I will give you what life I can. After that, there is nothing anyone can do.”

Poire dropped out of the connection, without severing it.

He stared at the Mirror, at all the distant, impossible shapes moving in impossible ways. From this side, they seemed so small and harmless, like pure theory.

A shushing sound started at the very edge of Poire’s hearing. It grew louder, like the wind through the leaves. And louder still, like the shredding of sheet metal in a hurricane. And grew louder still.

Miles of metal, more motors than could ever be counted, and the harsh, crackling hum of gravitational repulsors lowered into the sky above the pyramid. Wind roared as the machines displaced the air with their descent, and Sen’s own gravity generator adjusted to account for the sudden increase of mass hovering over the pyramid’s rim.

They jostled into layers, blocking out every other sight. No beams, no yawning darkness. The sky was machine.

His head thrummed. His chest, his arms, his whole body, vibrated. His fingers left lazy reflections in the air, as if his fingertips were cutting open the very fabric of the universe itself.

The Light yearned to leap from his being, and to carve itself across the ocean of machines above.

You could do it, Poire thought. You could unleash this power, and destroy them.

And then what?

The Mirror flashed, and a single ray of light shot out, and froze in the air, forming a tunnel that connected the nadir of the pyramid to the gate. You could live.

1300 years.

And then, as Sen said, there is nothing anyone can do.

Poire turned his back on the tunnel of Light, and looked up at the Mirror.

We’ll see about that.