Aether returned from the vision the way a drowning man returns to air — gasping, disoriented, uncertain for a long moment whether the world around him was real or simply another layer of the memory he had just witnessed. The Ninth Chamber was still there, its silver walls still glowing faintly around him, the Reflection still standing in the same patient stillness it had occupied since he first crossed the threshold. But something inside Aether had changed, and he understood, even before he could put words to it, that this particular vision was not like the others.
