He saw familiar faces among the statuary in the center of the fountain, and turned away. Not final yet, he thought. This isn’t real yet. He’d built this reality out of threads of what could be, of mirrors of the world as it now played out. It wasn’t set. For the first time since entering this vision of his own design, his confidence shook. He knew the Last Battle wasn’t a failure. But people were dying. Did he think to stop all death, all pain? This should be my fight, he thought. They shouldn’t have to die. Wasn’t his sacrifice enough?
