Elias saw it before he saw himself, a figure identical to him, darker, moving with a confidence that mocked his own, himself, yet not. Sharper, more dangerous, a reflection of choices he hadn't made but could already feel pressing upon him. The world seemed to ripple around this double, corridors bending like wet paper, mirrors reflecting not what was, but what could be. And yet, in the center of the chaos, the ordinary waited, a warm crusty loaf of bread, a glass of milk, steam curling in the faint light. He tore the bread and drank the milk. The taste grounded him, tethered him to humanity even as the city threatened to unravel him. And the question lingered, sharp and eternal. What are you willing to remember... and what are you willing to forget? He chewed slowly, grounded by taste, by warmth, by the certainty that even in impossible moments, the human mind could anchor itself.
