The dream pushed him forward softly. When Lior reached out to the pedestal, he felt the strands of light alter as he touched them. As they pulled it apart, the object came into view: a little silver glass mirror that was just a little bigger than his palm. When he lifted the mirror, the surface rippled like water, and suddenly a tiny reflection emerged. It wasn't his face; it was something deeper, something that seemed like a little flame that flickered gently inside of him. Before he could fully understand what he was seeing, the room trembled slightly, and the light from the tiny dream flickered—not in fear, but in recognition.

Lior held on to the mirror more securely, as if he had found something important that would help him get through the next part of his experience. The dream world seemed to be waiting for Lior to understand the silver mirror he now held. The room's gentle shaking stopped and became a soft quiet. The little dream stayed by his side, and its steady, soft glow barely showed up on the rippling glass. Lior carefully lifted the mirror and saw the little flame-shaped light within pulse as if it were alive, breathing in a slow, steady rhythm that matched the beating of his own heart.

The internal flame was something he had felt before, like a memory he couldn't quite place. It was something he had felt without knowing it for much of his life. As he looked into the glass, the flame became hotter, and the room around him got a little darker. It wasn't scary, but it was dark enough that the mirror's glow was the only light that mattered. The flame slowly changed shape, stretching, twisting, and becoming something more clear—something that was obviously his. It was a little version of himself made of soft, sparkling light instead of flesh and bone.