The moment I sat on the black throne the corridor, the statues, and the core circle vanished.
Subjective time stretched. What the others later told me lasted only twelve minutes outside felt like six full hours inside the test. There was no landscape at first, only pressure that examined every layer of the Cursed Nebula Physique with absolute precision. Then the pressure opened into a sequence of possible lives, each one complete and undeniable while it lasted.
In one life I stood at the centre of a unified force that stretched across every drifting continent and open sea the maps had ever named. The women of the circle held clear positions of power and trust around me. The great clans had been broken or absorbed. The Origin Wound itself answered to the physique that had claimed it. The life ended in quiet dominion that left no equal and no true companion left unaltered by the weight of what I carried.
