Millenia pass in minutes, the excruciating nature of anticipation burning like an imploding star into my patience. Another sensation; mortality is scratching at the surface of my being.

Fate’s vessel weeps for an eternity, unable to separate himself from this moment in which he is rapt. Presence is everything to him, as it is to all but those above time’s tungsten shackles.

‘Who are you?’

The voice speaks from within, as if I am questioning myself. A static charge jumps between sprouting neurons. I have spent too long in the material plane.

‘A concerned party,’ I say, itching.

‘Concern?’ it says. ‘What do we know of concern? We are no longer subject to the emotions of man. We have no need for such primitive mechanisms.’

‘Th...

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