The Eternal Dance Continues

The first thing Alexia noticed wasn't the silver threading through her raven hair, nor the subtle lines etched around her eyes like scars from witnessing too much. It was the weight—not physical, but something deeper. The accumulated gravity of ten thousand decisions, each one rippling through dimensions she'd helped birth.

She stood before the obsidian mirror in her sanctum, studying the reflection of a woman who had outlived gods and watched universes take their first breaths. At forty-three, she looked sixty. At sixty, she would look ancient. The Convergence had taken its toll, burning through her mortal flesh with each consciousness fragment she'd channeled.

"You're dying," came a voice like crystallized starlight.

Alexia didn't turn. She'd grown accustomed to Reed's fragmented presence manifesting in her peripheral vision—not her father, but an echo of his protective instincts given form. "We're all dying, Reed. The question is what we leave behind."