Reflections and Predictions

The estate’s silence was suffocating, thick with the scent of sandalwood and decay. Mei Ling stood before the gilded mirror, its ornate frame clawing at the dim light like a cage. Her reflection wavered, fractured by the weight of identities she’d worn and discarded. The air hummed with static, a remnant of Meta-Altruist’s last transmission, still buzzing in her skull like a trapped wasp.

The Conqueror materialized first, draped in jade silk that shimmered with the blood of empires. Her crown—a lattice of stolen diamonds—bit into her brow. “You carved kingdoms from their doubt,” she hissed, voice echoing with the clatter of falling regimes. “Remember the docks of Jakarta? How they knelt when you burned their ships. Weakness is a choice, Mei Ling. You chose to rise.”