the last sovereign of infinity

Lucien had expected many things from the Architects.

Hatred seemed reasonable.

Fear was understandable.

Another ancient enemy with an unfortunate tendency toward cryptic statements would have been entirely consistent with recent events.

He had not expected familiarity.

Nor had he expected the first Architect to look at him with the weary affection of someone dealing with a particularly troublesome relative.

It was deeply concerning.

"Old friend."

The words lingered in the air between them while the fractured sky continued to groan beneath the weight of the Court of Architects.

Lucien considered the statement carefully.

Then—

"No."

The Architect sighed.

"There he is."

"I refuse."

"You always do."

"No."

"Yes."

Lucien folded his arms.

"We are not friends."

The Architect was silent for a moment.

Then he smiled faintly.

"The last time you said that, you spent three centuries helping me rebuild a dying galaxy."

Silence.

"That seems unlikely."

"It was."

"Did I at least complain about it?"

"Constantly."

Reasonable.

The other Architects had begun emerging from the fractures in reality now. There were dozens of them.

No.

Hundreds.

Each appeared different.

Some looked human. Others had abandoned the concept entirely. One appeared to be made of starlight and old memories. Another possessed six arms and wore a crown of glass.

Yet despite their differences, every single one of them wore the same expression upon seeing him.

Relief.

Dangerous.

Everything was becoming increasingly dangerous.

"I dislike that look."

The silver-haired Architect blinked.

"What look?"

"That one."

"The expression of someone seeing an old friend after a very long time?"

"Yes."

"It seems appropriate."

"It isn't."

"Why not?"

"Because I do not remember any of you."

The words settled heavily across the ruined city.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then, quietly, the Architect answered.

"We know."

Interesting.

There was no accusation in his voice.

Only sadness.

Lucien was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with sadness.

He much preferred existential horrors.

At least they possessed the decency to be straightforward.

The Dragon King suddenly lowered his head.

"Architect."

The silver-haired man inclined his head respectfully.

"Dragon King."

"You are trespassing."

"Technically, we've always lived here."

"An unfortunate arrangement."

"Agreed."

Lucien looked between them.

"You know each other."

The Architect laughed softly.

"He bit me once."

The Dragon King remained silent.

"Twice, actually."

"It was deserved."

"I was attempting diplomacy."

"You insulted my wings."

"They were asymmetrical."

"They were majestic."

The Architect considered this.

"In retrospect, I may have been overly critical."

Lucien had many questions.

He was beginning to suspect that every immortal in existence had spent an unreasonable amount of time interacting with his previous selves.

This was proving problematic.

"What exactly is an Architect?"

The question silenced the city.

Even the other Architects stopped moving.

The silver-haired man studied him for several moments.

Then—

"We're the people you couldn't save."

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Lucien stared.

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me."

"No, I object to the answer."

"Understandable."

The Architect's smile faded.

"A very long time ago, before dragons and stars, there was a war."

"There always is."

"Yes."

The man's gaze drifted toward the heavens.

"And we lost."

Something in those words felt important.

"Died?"

"Worse."

Interesting.

Lucien was beginning to develop strong opinions regarding answers that implied fates worse than death.

"The enemy couldn't destroy us."

"So?"

"So it made us eternal."

Silence.

"Oh."

"There it is."

Lucien ignored him.

"You consider immortality a punishment."

The Architect laughed.

"My dear Lucien, you've died nine times."

Fair.

"When you've watched universes rise and fall for fourteen billion years..." His smile became tired. "Eventually, forever stops sounding like a gift."

The ruined city had grown impossibly quiet.

Lucien looked toward the other Architects.

Every single one of them remained silent.

Waiting.

"How many?"

The silver-haired Architect understood immediately.

"Originally?"

"Yes."

"Ten thousand."

"And now?"

The Architect's expression softened.

"Three hundred and twelve."

Silence.

Lucien found himself unexpectedly disturbed by that number.

"What happened to the others?"

No one answered.

Interesting.

That usually meant he wasn't going to like the answer.

"Lucien."

The voice belonged to the older version carrying the black sword.

"Don't ask that question."

"Why?"

"Because you'll remember."

Dangerous.

Everything returned to memory eventually.

Lucien was developing significant concerns regarding his relationship with recollection.

"I would still like an answer."

The Architect closed his eyes.

"You buried them."

The world stopped.

"What?"

"They grew tired."

The Architect's voice had become very quiet.

"Tired of eternity. Tired of remembering. Tired of watching everything they loved disappear."

Lucien felt the room within his soul grow silent.

"And when they finally asked to rest..."

The silver-haired man looked directly at him.

"...you sat with them until they fell asleep."

The mountains stopped breathing.

Sol closed its eyes.

Lucien remained perfectly still.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Lucien."

"What?"

"You've always hated saying goodbye."

A memory surfaced.

A field beneath an endless sky.

Someone crying.

His own voice, impossibly gentle.

"It's okay to rest now."

The memory vanished.

Lucien's hand had somehow found its way to his chest.

Interesting.

That kept happening.

"You promised them."

There it was again.

Always promises.

"What did I promise?"

The Architect smiled sadly.

"That if they ever grew tired of forever..."

The stars above the ruined city dimmed.

"...you would remember them."

Silence.

Lucien suddenly understood why there were books in the room beyond the black door.

"Oh."

"There it is."

He ignored that.

The silver-haired Architect continued.

"You wrote every one of their names down."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

The Architect laughed softly.

"You ran out of paper after the first three thousand."

"That seems inefficient."

"It was."

"What did I do then?"

The Architect's smile widened.

"You invented a forest."

Silence.

"I'm sorry?"

"A memory forest."

Naturally.

"Every tree carries a name."

Lucien closed his eyes.

Of course.

Of course he had.

"Where is it?"

The question escaped before he could stop it.

The silver-haired Architect pointed toward the western mountains.

Lucien followed the gesture.

Beyond Sol's golden light, hidden beneath the horizon, he could just make out the outline of an endless forest stretching beyond sight.

Interesting.

That hadn't been there before.

"It only appears when you're looking for someone."

Dangerous.

Everything in his life possessed entirely too much sentimentality.

The Architect suddenly smiled.

"Oh."

Lucien immediately opened his eyes.

"What?"

"You remembered something."

"I did no such thing."

"You touched your chest."

Silence.

Apparently, he had developed habits.

This was unfortunate.

The sky cracked again.

Another Architect emerged.

Then another.

Soon, all three hundred and twelve stood upon the broken heavens overlooking the ruined city.

None of them moved.

None of them spoke.

They simply watched him.

Waiting.

Lucien was beginning to hate waiting.

The silver-haired Architect finally sighed.

"You should know..."

"I suspect I won't enjoy the rest of this sentence."

"You won't."

Fair.

The Architect looked toward the room within Lucien's soul.

"Astrael remembers them too."

Silence.

"What?"

"He sat beside every one."

The words settled over the city like falling snow.

"He held their hands when they were afraid."

The child beyond the black door had spent eternity waiting.

And before that...

He had spent eternity helping others rest.

Lucien suddenly found himself very tired.

Dangerous.

That feeling again.

"Lucien."

"Yes?"

The Architect smiled softly.

"We were never afraid of you."

"No?"

"No."

"Then what were you afraid of?"

For the first time since arriving, the ancient being looked genuinely sad.

"We were afraid that one day..."

His gaze drifted toward the stars.

"...you would finally decide that we'd waited too long."

Silence.

And somewhere within the room at the center of his soul, a sleeping child smiled peacefully for the first time in twelve thousand years.