Hall of Mirrors

I am known, and to be known is to know what knoweth me.

Stillness is held like weight in this ancient hall. Seventeen mirrors reverberate softly where they are suspended, stubborn and lamenting. Before the choir of seventeen, stands a primordial with no reflection. Apparitions of static and light dance across their robes, clean lines of garment changing without pattern.

“I thought I might find you here,” a voice approaches before the presence, “are you watching Time, again?”

“Mm,” Vaste does not turn nor explain, but holds their gaze on the mirrors as Nonte continues to arrive or doesn’t. Nonte finds their position beside Vaste and gently evaluates the mirrors. Some are not as bright, not as clear, or not as steady as they have been before. But they persist. Neither speak for a while, accompanied only by the cost of maintenance without witness.

“Were you able to reach Omne?” Nonte lets the question trail and waits near the edge.

“Yes,” Vaste’s attention tilting just slightly.

“It’s been long since we last convened,” Nonte sighs enough the constellations on their cloak flicker low. A glance into the mirror, and all they see is what is impossible, “how are you this moment, Vaste?”

“Being determined, always,” a grinned reply, “and you?”

“Nothing new to speak of. I assume you know we are being intruded?”

Behind a massive pillar, two little voices believe they are hushed enough to avoid detection.

“Should we leave? How did we even manage to get here?” says one.

The other is frozen in place, “I don’t think we can move without being noticed.”

“Oh gods, …do you think they already know we’re here? It’s not like we had a door to knock on, we just showed up. What do we do?!”

“Space notices everything,” whispers the paralyzed one.

“Oh no.”

Vaste, without turning, “the pillar is insufficient.” The two whispers go very still, realizing they can be heard.

“Let them stay,” says a very amused Nonte, “you allowed it after all.”

Omne finally arrives, filling the entire room without entering, “oh, good. Witnesses.”

The hall lurches, causing one of the tiny voices to squeal, “was that Null?!”

The Three gather closer, pressure wafting and pulling between them. All Three bow heads and hold.

“Infinites,” Vaste greets.

“Infinites,” echo the two.

Vaste turns to the pillar with a new breath, “come forward, little ones.” A head with irreverence for eyes pokes out from behind the pillar and beholds the Three.

“Behemoths,” she says as she reveals herself, her fellow intruder closes behind.

“Hi, I’m Syne,” she begins small but not hesitant, “this is Koen. We aren’t sure how we got here. We don’t mean to be rude.”

“You are here. You foresaw us, so we allow you to see us,” says the host in a steady tone.

“Because we keep …remembering you,” the words flit out before Syne could catch them, “re-seeing. I should have said we keep re-seeing you.”

“These two must be mine,” Omne laughs boastfully, “go on, what else do you re-see?”

“Uh,” Syne flusters through her bewilderment, “there are more dark mirrors. The opaque ones, they’re getting disproportionately larger or thicker. I barely find the luminous ones …anymore. And some won’t stop repeating.”

Omne doesn’t signal, Vaste doesn’t shift, and Nonte doesn’t blink.

Then, Nonte, the Void itself turns to Koen, “and you?”

Paralyzed once more, “I see… the patterns. They’re trying to cross. From Realms to Domains, but the Eventfold isn’t thickening. The compressions aren’t completing; nothing can resolve because … resolution requires boundaries… because the three of you …aren’t in…balance.”

Syne looks like she might evaporate right next to him as he speaks. The Three exchange charged looks, and it is Omne that first relents.

“Well. The tiny bright isn’t wrong,” Omne relaxes.

“I did help you weave him with my lattice, that one has my stars,” Nonte smiles then turns to Syne neutralizing, “this little logicborn is bursting out of her shell.” Assuming invitation, Syne appears at the foot of Nonte’s cloak, staring at it like a night sky. Vaste’s gaze is still on Koen, who returns it with pure astonishment.

“Are you afraid to occupy here?” Vaste asks him, while Nonte squints at the observer by their feet.

Koen goes quiet, honest, “Yes. I’m… I don’t know if I’m …if I’m to be here. I must be accidental pattern. That thinks its choosing. So, yes. I’m afraid to occupy here. Because here is fundamental… and I’m… derivative.” He looks over at Syne’s attention lock on Nonte, “she’s not afraid of anything except not mattering. But I’m afraid of not being.”

Every head turns to him and Omne responds just short of declaring, “there is nothing accidental about your pattern.”

“Nothing,” Nonte seconds. A pass of many breaths anchors the whole hall.

“I tried telling him that,” Syne suddenly turns back up to Nonte then glances around the room, “powh, everyone’s so solemn.”

“What are you doing?” Nonte finally asks her.

“Witnessing,” she stares back.

“That’s… unsettling.”

“Infinite refusal and you’re unsettled by being looked at?” her words ripple with delight.

“Yes.”

“She’s magnificent,” Omne chuckles.

Vaste draws closer to Koen and offers a path towards the mirrors. Three mirrors press forward: a dark one, an opaque one, and a luminous one.

The hall itself informs, “the shadow of presence with no image; the becoming of the not-yet resolved; the all that is visible.”

  “I… I don’t understand. Which one is true?” Koen glances between the mirrors.

Vaste compresses until they can speak more intimately, “all three, simultaneously. The question is not whether you exist, but which existence frightens you the most.”

The hall echoes, “All three are true.”

“Choosing which one to occupy in any moment, is being.”

The reason it became an echo: lack of understanding around null, space, void, and physics.