LXXV
A tall figure stood in the center of a chamber, his form shadowed but unmistakably humanoid. He had long shadowy tentacle-like limbs undulating under waves of clothing. His coat was made of blue shimmering material, crystalline and shifting like liquid ice. It wasn't fabric. It wasn't metal. It was something not of this earth, something grown into the shape of clothing, not crafted and sewn together.
His face was obscured by shadow, but his posture was relaxed, almost amused. Then the being spoke, his voice echoed through the glacier like a ripple of cold water.
"Did we not say on the ship that we would keep an eye out for you, human woman."
My breath caught.
Rolan stepped in front of me instinctively, spear raised, shoulders tense. Stone‑Wind stamped the ice, snorting. Sura pressed against my side. The cat hissed softly, its tiny body trembling with recognition.
The figure tilted his head, the blue material of his coat shimmering like the aurora itself.
The alien's presence bent the chamber around him.
He wasn't like the human scientists I had met before. No neat silhouette, no tidy humanoid proportions. This one was taller, his shadow‑form stretched into long, tapering limbs that unfurled like ribbons of darkness. The blue shimmering material covering him wasn't cloth; it was grown, crystalline, alive, refracting the aurora through its facets like a living prism.
Behind him stood the machines. They were as tall as the cavern itself, pillar‑towers embedded deep into the glacier's heart. They glowed with star‑speckled light, constellations drifting inside their cores. The ice around them pulsed faintly, as if the glacier itself was wired into their systems.
This place wasn't just a chamber.
It was a laboratory, a vault, a museum of everything the alien species had ever touched.
And we had walked straight into it.
The question escaped before I could stop it.
"How do you know me?"
The alien tapped its long, sloped forehead with a limb that looked almost like a hand.
"Collective memory."
Its voice rippled through the ice, vibrating the frozen statues around us.
"All of my species collect information and know every bit of every time and place every other being has been. It is very efficient for experimentation."
The words sank into me like cold water. How amazing.
They didn't just remember individuals. They remembered everything every one of their species experienced as a whole. It like a computer memory bank collected from every single individual of the species.
The alien stepped closer, towering over me, the soul mirror glowing in its grasp.
"You are a deviation. A misplaced variable. A human out of sequence."
Its crystalline coat shimmered with aurora light.
"And deviations are always… interesting."
Rolan shifted, ready to strike, the arrow bolt and atlatl in hand.
The little tuxedo cat pressed against my chest, trembling in its carrier.
The glacier hummed around us, alive with ancient magic.
And the alien waited, studying me like a specimen that had finally walked into its own display case.
The alien's words rolled through the chamber like a low‑frequency vibration, resonating in the ice, in the machines, in the frozen statues of animals and people suspended around us. The glacier itself seemed to listen.
Its shadow‑limbs unfurled farther, delicate and terrifying, each one tipped with a faint shimmer of starlight. The blue crystalline material covering its body refracted the aurora in sharp, prismatic bursts.
It held the soul mirror between two tapered limbs, studying it like a scientist examining a rare organism.
"If you are stuck in this time, you would muddy the timeline and possibly be detrimental to the development of your own prime species."
The alien tilted the mirror, letting the aurora ripple across its surface.
"This is very bad for your own history."
Behind me, Rolan stiffened, spear raised, breath fogging in thick bursts. He didn't understand the words, but he understood the tone. The cat pressed against my chest, trembling, its tiny body reacting to the alien's presence.
The alien continued, unfazed.
"So you, your cat, and that spirit must go back into the mirror void and back to your timeline. We will reprogram the native with something plausible."
Its limbs folded inward, elegant and precise.
"This might take a few tries. The universe does enjoy variables. But I will try to get you close."
The glacier hummed, the machines pulsed, and the aurora flickered in time with the alien's voice.
"Use your spirit to tune into your own universe."
The alien lowered the mirror slightly, its shadow‑form shifting like smoke.
"You'll need to make adjustments yourself. Use your spirit to tune into your own universe."
The soul mirror pulsed faintly in its grasp, reacting to the cat, to the glacier, to me.
"Your dimension will always call upon its living souls." Its voice softened, almost curious. "If you concentrate on your life… your memories… you will be called home."
The words echoed through the chamber, bouncing off the frozen statues, the mirrored walls, the machines glowing with star‑speckled light.
The ice vibrated.
Rolan stepped closer, spear raised, protective, ready to strike even though he knew it would do nothing. The cat hissed softly, its tiny body trembling with recognition and fear.
The alien leaned forward, towering over me, the soul mirror glowing between us.
"You are out of your time, human woman. And now the timeline demands correction."
The alien adjusted the soul mirror with a precision that made the glacier itself seem clumsy.
The alien's shadow‑limbs folded and unfurled like living instruments, each movement exact, deliberate, almost surgical. The tiny crystalline array inside the mirror, once meant only to trap the Hat‑Man's spirit, shifted under the alien's touch. The shard pulsed, its glow deepening from pale silver to a richer, more resonant light.
It wasn't just a prison anymore.
It was becoming a beacon.
The alien angled the mirror toward the aurora, letting the light refract through the shard. The machines embedded in the glacier hummed in response, their star‑speckled cores flickering like distant galaxies.
"Your soul signature is faint, human woman. Diffuse. Concentrate on your memories, condense your soul."
Its voice vibrated through the ice.
"If you are to return to your proper timeline, your signature must be amplified."
The mirror pulsed again, once, twice, each beat syncing with the rhythm of a heartbeat. The alien's limbs moved in a slow, spiraling pattern, adjusting the crystalline lattice inside the shard.
"There."
The mirror brightened, casting a soft glow across the cavern.
"Now it will call to your origin point. A beacon. A tuning fork. A memory anchor."
The cat in your parka stirred, pressing its head against your chest. The Hat‑Man's presence inside the mirror flickered faintly, reacting to the adjustments.
Rolan watched with tense confusion, spear raised, breath fogging in thick bursts. He didn't understand the alien's words, but he understood the danger.
"You're out of your time."
The alien's crystalline coat shimmered, refracting the aurora into sharp, prismatic bursts.
"You are displaced. Out of sequence. A variable introduced where no variable belongs."
Its shadow‑form leaned closer, towering over a meter over us.
"This beacon will guide you. But the universe is not always cooperative. It may take several attempts."
The glacier hummed around us, the frozen statues of animals and people vibrating faintly as if listening.
"You must make adjustments yourself. Use your spirit to tune into your own universe."
The alien tapped the mirror lightly.
"Your dimension will always call upon its living souls. Concentrate on your life. Your memories. Your origin."
Its voice softened, almost curious. "You will be called home."
The pillar‑towers behind the alien brightened, constellations swirling inside their cores. The glacier's mirrored walls rippled, reflections bending and twisting as the chamber prepared for a shifting of worlds, a crossing of time.
The alien stepped back, giving you space.
The mirror pulsed in your hand, warm now, alive.
The cat pressed closer, sensing the change.
Rolan moved beside you, protective, uncertain.
And the reflective glacier waited our decision.