Somewhere around the first minute, I knew this wasn’t going to be an ordinary fate-dive. There was no buffeting to and fro on gusts of chance. I wasn’t frozen, lurped, snecked, burned or any of the other “standard” oracular experiences. The wind seemed to slow, and I opened my eyes to what should have been the gap between worlds.

I was slowly descending to a desert. Sand, scrub, occasional bits of rock. Chaotically uniform, horizon to horizon, with one exception.

The mirror was perfect. As I alit on the sands (strange, I don’t feel hot) it reflected the sands behind me, but I was missing from the scene. The frame and stand were ornate, heavy black wood, carved fractally – major patterns containing minor patterns, containing fragments of the overall theme, containing individual decorations, etc. I’m quite sure an electron microscope would see it repeat at the subatomic level.

A familiar figure appeared in the mirror.

”’Ello, Marty.”

Mentor, trainer, enemy, fraud.

“Chaz. You didn’t stay dead.”