the last sovereign of infinity

Lucien had always assumed that if he ever met himself, the experience would be considerably more confrontational.

There would be accusations.

Questions.

Possibly swords.

That seemed consistent with the general trajectory of his existence.

Instead, he found himself standing in the center of his Infinite Mindscape, staring at a ten-year-old boy who had spent longer than stars waiting for him to return.

The universe, Lucien had decided, possessed an unfortunate sense of humor.

"There you are."

The child's words continued to echo through the Mindscape.

Not because they carried power.

But because they didn't.

There was no anger in them.

No accusation.

Only relief.

That somehow made them infinitely worse.

Lucien remained silent.

He was becoming increasingly familiar with silence. It had a tendency to appear whenever someone revealed a deeply uncomfortable truth regarding his previous lives.

The child shifted awkwardly beneath his gaze.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No."

"Oh."

"There it is again."

The child smiled faintly.

"You always said that."

Lucien found himself unable to look away.

The resemblance was exact.

Golden eyes.

Black hair.

The same expression that seemed permanently caught between curiosity and mild disappointment.

Even the way the child stood was familiar.

It was like looking into a mirror that had spent eternity waiting for its reflection to return.

"You waited."

The words came out quieter than intended.

"Yes."

"Why?"

The child tilted his head.

"You asked me to."

"That isn't an answer."

"It was to me."

Silence.

Lucien disliked that response.

Mostly because some part of him understood it immediately.

The Last Witness slowly rose to his feet.

"I think," the old man said carefully, "that we should give them some privacy."

"No," Lucien said immediately.

"Yes," said everyone else.

He looked around the Mindscape.

The older Lucien had somehow produced a chair and was already sitting in it. Orion appeared deeply invested in a conversation with the Dragon King regarding whether clouds possessed ambitions.

Seraphina was pretending not to watch.

Everyone was still here.

Interesting.

Apparently, immortals had no understanding of privacy.

The child laughed softly.

"It's okay."

"What is?"

"You always become uncomfortable when people care about you."

Lucien blinked.

"That is objectively false."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

The child smiled.

"See?"

Lucien chose not to acknowledge that.

Instead, he focused on the more immediate problem.

"You should be angry."

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

The child went still.

"What?"

"You waited."

"Yes."

"For an eternity."

"I think it was longer than that."

"That isn't helping."

"Oh. Sorry."

Lucien pressed two fingers against his forehead.

This was becoming exhausting.

"You should hate me."

Silence.

The child stared at him for several moments before asking a question Lucien had not expected.

"Did you hate Cassian?"

Lucien frowned.

"What?"

"When you left House Arkanis."

The question caught him completely off guard.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because—"

He stopped.

Interesting.

Because what?

Because leaving didn't mean he had stopped caring?

Because promises were complicated?

Because people left for reasons that had nothing to do with the people they left behind?

The child continued watching him.

"Oh."

Lucien immediately disliked where this was going.

"What?"

"You understand."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

The child's smile was impossibly gentle.

"You didn't leave because you wanted to."

Silence descended upon the Mindscape.

The older Lucien looked away.

The Last Witness closed his eyes.

And somewhere beyond the mountains, Sol's breathing became softer.

Lucien stared at the child.

"You don't know that."

"I do."

"How?"

"Because I was there."

The answer struck harder than it should have.

"I remember you crying."

The world stopped.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"You cried a lot, actually."

"I refuse to believe that."

The child laughed.

"It was a very emotional week."

Lucien was rapidly discovering that every version of himself possessed an unreasonable amount of information he would have preferred remain hidden.

"You kept apologizing."

Silence.

"For what?"

The child's expression became sad.

"For not being able to stay."

Something in Lucien's chest tightened painfully.

"I said that?"

"Many times."

The child looked toward the stars of the Mindscape.

"You kept saying you'd find another way."

"And I didn't."

"No."

The answer was quiet.

"But you tried."

That somehow made it worse.

Lucien had fought dragons.

He had stared into the eyes of Architects.

He had apparently punched reality on at least one occasion.

None of those experiences had prepared him for standing before a child who had forgiven him long before he had forgiven himself.

"You should have moved on."

The child smiled.

"I know."

"Then why didn't you?"

The answer came immediately.

"Because I knew you'd come back."

The certainty in those words was unbearable.

"How?"

The child thought about it.

"Because you always do."

Lucien found himself without a response.

Again.

Dangerous.

That feeling had become far too common recently.

The child took a hesitant step forward.

"You really don't remember, do you?"

"No."

"Oh."

"There it is again."

The child laughed quietly.

"You said something before you left."

Lucien's pulse slowed.

"What?"

"You asked me what I wanted."

The Infinite Mindscape grew silent.

"And?"

The child looked down at his hands.

"I said I wanted to go with you."

Something broke.

Small.

Quiet.

Human.

Lucien suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

"And what did I say?"

The child's smile returned.

"You said, 'Then wait for me a little longer.'"

Silence.

"I asked how long."

The stars above them dimmed.

"And you said..." The child's voice softened. "'Not long. I promise.'"

The word promise echoed through the Mindscape like thunder.

Lucien closed his eyes.

Not long.

An eternity.

The difference seemed suddenly insignificant.

"I'm sorry."

The words escaped before he could stop them.

Absolute silence followed.

Even the black door seemed to still itself.

The child stared at him with wide eyes.

"You remembered?"

"No."

"Then—"

"I should have come back sooner."

The child's expression changed.

Slowly, impossibly, tears began forming in his eyes.

"Oh."

Lucien hated that word.

The child laughed through his tears.

"There it is again."

Then, before Lucien could react, the child stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him.

Lucien froze.

His first instinct was confusion.

His second was panic.

His third—

His third was memory.

A child crying in endless darkness.

A promise made beneath the first sky.

A hand reaching back one final time.

"Wait for me."

"Okay."

The memory vanished.

Lucien remained perfectly still while the child held onto him as though afraid he might disappear again.

Eventually, after what felt like several eternities, Lucien awkwardly raised one hand and rested it atop the child's head.

The entire Mindscape went silent.

The Last Witness quietly looked away.

Seraphina suddenly found the stars fascinating.

The Dragon King made a suspiciously emotional sound.

"It took you long enough," Orion said softly.

Lucien ignored him.

The child laughed weakly.

"I knew you'd come back."

Lucien closed his eyes.

Dangerous.

Everything about this was dangerous.

Yet for the first time since his rebirth, he found that he didn't particularly mind.

And somewhere beyond the mountains, Sol laughed softly as well.

Because after waiting since before the stars...

The child beyond the black door was no longer waiting alone.