Sean:
You feel that?

Eljara:
Yeah.

Three directions.

Three truths.

---

Left.

Something breathing.

Rot. Growth. Life that shouldn’t be alive.

Eljara:
That’s not decay.

Sean:
No.

Eljara:
It’s still living.

Sean:
That’s what they call it.

---

Right.

Cold metal.

Perfect.

Still.

A figure standing. Watching nothing.

Eljara:
That one came back.

Sean:
Yeah.

Eljara:
No.

A beat.

Eljara:
That one stayed.

---

Ahead.

Movement.

Fast. Alien. Endless.

Mass shifting. Breaking. Reforming.

Eljara:
That’s not life.

Sean:
No.

Eljara:
That’s… reuse.

Sean:
Exactly.

---

Silence.

---

Eljara:
Different faces.

Sean:
Same thing.

Eljara:
Nurgle.

Sean nodded.

Eljara:
Necrons.

Another nod.

Eljara:
Tyranids.

Sean:
Yeah.

---

Eljara:
So which one is worse?

Sean looked at all three.

Long.

Careful.

Sean:
Depends.

Eljara:
On what?

Sean:
What scares you more.

A beat.

Sean:
Losing yourself.

Another beat.

Sean:
Or never having one.

---

Eljara watched the three again.

This time longer.

Deeper.

Eljara:
They all promise the same thing.

Sean:
You don’t end.

Eljara:
You continue.

Her voice dropped.

Eljara:
Just not as you.

Sean didn’t smile.

Didn’t move.

Sean:
They never say that part.

---

And across all three—

nothing returned.

Only something else…

took its place.

---

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