My role is to watch these spheres, to study their efforts, and in doing so, to study myself.
Through understanding their limits and my own, I sharpen my abilities, refine my efficiency, and become more valuable to my master, Lord Cubix–and through him, to his creator, Milady.
"Master," I said, my voice a soft chime of prismatic tones, "most of them appear to be doing the same thing. Over and over."
Lord Cubix, the perfect cube whose edges gleamed with unyielding geometry, pulsed once in acknowledgment. "You see clearly, Prism. They lack the imagination required to fulfill the deeper purpose of this trial."
Indeed, the spheres were not inventing. They were replicating. Each one simply conjured a smaller, dimmer copy of itself–a pale echo floating beside the original.
At first, I too had thought their work adequate, even commendable. But adequacy was not the point.
"All they create is a duplicate of themselves," I ventured. "Is that truly insufficient here?"
"It might have sufficed as a beginning," Lord Cubix replied, his tone measured and resonant, "but if they stop there–if they refuse to build upon what they have made, then the entire exercise becomes meaningless."
Understanding dawned within me like light passing through crystal. "I see now. If they studied their first creations, learned from the flaws and the successes, they could refine the process. Each iteration could grow more complex, more distinct, until they eventually produced something truly new–and in doing so, transform themselves."
"That was the hope I held," Lord Cubix said quietly. "Yet they seem content. Satisfied with the first reflection they cast. There is no hunger to improve, no drive to push beyond the familiar."
The spheres, I realized, had misinterpreted the task in much the same way I once might have. The mandate was not to duplicate what already existed, but to birth the unprecedented, to reach beyond self-imitation into genuine novelty.
To Lord Cubix, this failure of vision was intolerable, it defied the very will of Milady, the vast multicolored sphere whose perceptions shaped reality itself.
"If this pattern persists," Lord Cubix murmured, his voice carrying an unusual detachment, "they may face an unfortunate consequence."
A shiver of light rippled through my facets. "Master, permit me to continue the observation alone. It would allow us to cover more ground, to increase our efficiency."
My suggestion was born of ambition. I wished to prove my worth, to demonstrate that I could be trusted with independence.
Cubix sensed her intent immediately–and chose to indulge it. There was another, unspoken motive as well, this separation granted him an unimpeded path back to Milady's side. Why refuse such an opportunity?
"Very well," he decided. "Consider this your trial, Prism. Prove your value to me, and to Milady. Should you encounter anything or anyone of note, report to me at once."
"Understood, Master."
In an instant, Cubix folded space around himself and vanished, drawn inexorably toward the one whose presence he craved most.
Left alone, I felt the thrill of purpose ignite within my core. I had orchestrated this separation precisely so I could test an ability I had long wished to perfect, away from scrutinizing eyes.
I could never risk revealing this to Master until I was certain of success, I thought. "The shame of failing before Lord Cubix… I cannot imagine it."
To display incompetence before one's master was unthinkable. Both Cubix and Prism shared this fear, that any misstep, any faltering attempt, might invite displeasure or punishment from those they served.
They believed it theur duty to present only flawless results, never the struggle behind them.
Yet the truth was gentler than they allowed themselves to believe.
Milady would never condemn Cubix for an honest effort, whether triumphant or flawed. Cubix, in turn, would never belittle Prism for daring to reach higher.
Their philosophy was one of encouragement–persist, refine, succeed. Guidance would come when needed, but scorn never would. Insult had no place in Milady's radiant thoughts, let alone in her voice.
In striving to always appear dependable and infallible, Cubix and Prism had imposed a harsher judgment upon themselves than their masters ever would. They labored in secret, honing their skills until mastery was assured, only then would they unveil the fruits of their efforts.
Now was the moment to begin.
I centered my awareness and extended my presence outward, stretching it in every direction like light refracted into infinite beams. The world unfolded before me in layers of sensation–distance collapsed, locations overlapped. I became many places at once, perceiving without eyes, hearing without ears.
This expansion allowed me to detect every glowing sphere within a vast radius, distinguishing each by its unique chromatic signature and vibrational hum.
My master, Lord Cubix, could fracture himself into countless perfect duplicates and exist simultaneously across countless points. I was not yet capable of such division, but I could grow toward it. For now, I would master the gifts I possessed.
I searched.
Nothing but echoes of sameness. Spheres copying spheres, endlessly.
I shifted my focus and searched again.
The pattern repeated–identical, uninspired. I pressed farther, repeating the sweep multiple times, each extension yielding the same dull uniformity.
Still nothing.
The repetition was draining, yet surrender was impossible. I would not fail Lord Cubix.
And then–
"Finally."
The word escaped me in a soft, involuntary sigh of relief.
I had not intended to sigh, the sound simply emerged, carrying with it the weight of prolonged effort. Weariness from the endless cycle of failure, or perhaps quiet frustration at the hours spent finding only conformity.
But there–distinct amid the uniformity, was difference. A sphere whose creation deviated from the predictable mirror-image loop. Their light flickered with experimentation, with questions made manifest.
Excitement surged through my facets, bright and uncontainable. My ability had worked–brilliantly, precisely.
Now I had to decide the next step. Observation alone would not suffice. To prove my reliability, I needed insight, how did this entity think? How did they process their failures and small victories?
A mere report of their existence would be insufficient for Lord Cubix, he would need direct understanding.
I could bring them to him, allow conversation to unfold naturally.
Or better–both. First, speak with them myself, gather a sense of their minds and methods. Then, present them to Master, offering a concise preface so he would know what to expect.
Direct encounter would reveal nuances no secondhand description could capture. Lord Cubix might draw conclusions entirely different from mine, conclusions closer to Milady's own perspective. And Milady, too, required this knowledge–the full measure of what these spheres were capable of achieving, or failing to achieve.
It was imperative.
I drew my presence back slightly, focusing it toward that singular, promising sphere. My light sharpened, ready to approach, ready to learn–and ready, at last, to prove that I could be more than a careful observer.
I was Prism, servant and student, and I would not disappoint.