Chapter 39: The One Who Waited Before Time
Lucien had expected many things.
Confusion was inevitable.
Ancient revelations had become something of a recurring occupational hazard.
He had even prepared himself for the possibility of discovering yet another version of himself waiting at the end of existence, though he would have strongly objected to reality's continued lack of creativity.
What he had not expected was simplicity.
The final door stood beneath the lantern's warm light.
No ancient symbols marked its surface.
No chains bound it shut.
No impossible power radiated from its frame.
It was simply a wooden door.
Old.
Weathered.
Loved.
Lucien found that last realization deeply concerning.
The figure standing beside it continued smiling.
"You're staring."
"I've been informed that I do that."
"Only when you're trying very hard not to feel something."
Dangerous.
That sentence was dangerous.
Lucien folded his arms.
"I disagree."
"You always do."
Interesting.
Everyone seemed remarkably confident regarding his personality.
He was developing complex feelings about this.
The road behind him had disappeared.
Not vanished.
Waited.
He could still feel it there, stretching back through stars and memories and promises.
Every path in his life, it seemed, eventually led here.
He disliked that immensely.
"You've been waiting."
The figure inclined their head slightly.
"Yes."
"Since before existence."
"Technically speaking, existence arrived somewhat late."
"Reasonable."
The figure laughed.
The sound hurt.
Not physically.
It simply carried the unbearable familiarity of a song he had forgotten he knew.
"You always say that."
"So I've heard."
Silence settled between them.
Lucien studied the figure carefully.
Every time he looked, the details changed.
An old woman with kind eyes.
A child no older than Astrael.
A man carrying a lantern through an endless storm.
And yet, beneath all those shifting appearances, one thing remained constant.
Loneliness.
Ancient.
Patient.
No.
Not loneliness.
Waiting.
"You don't seem angry."
The figure blinked.
"Should I be?"
"I was late."
The figure considered this.
"Remarkably so."
"Everyone keeps mentioning that."
"You missed approximately fourteen billion birthdays."
Lucien stopped breathing.
"I'm sorry?"
The figure smiled.
"I stopped counting after the first billion. It became difficult to fit all the candles."
Silence.
That...
That sounded exactly like something he would say.
Dangerous.
"You're joking."
"A little."
"A little?"
"I did celebrate the first few."
The lantern swayed gently.
"I thought you'd appreciate knowing someone remembered."
Something in Lucien's chest tightened painfully.
He was becoming increasingly tired of that sensation.
"I don't understand."
"I know."
"No, I genuinely don't."
"I know."
Lucien was rapidly developing strong opinions regarding people who answered questions with impossible patience.
It was deeply irritating.
"Who are you?"
There it was.
The question.
The figure's smile softened.
"I've had many names."
"Such as?"
"Dream."
The stars beyond the road brightened.
"Beginning."
The lantern's flame danced.
"Silence."
The door behind them creaked softly.
"And?"
The figure met his gaze.
"The first name you gave me was Tomorrow."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Lucien felt the world stop.
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Lucien."
"What?"
"You've always been surprisingly optimistic for someone with such a concerning relationship with reality."
Tomorrow.
The word settled into his soul with impossible familiarity.
A memory surfaced.
Darkness.
An endless darkness without stars.
"What are you?"
"I DON'T KNOW."
"That's unacceptable."
"WHY?"
"Because everything should know what it is."
"DO YOU?"
Silence.
"Not always."
The memory shifted.
"Then what should I call you?"
"I DO NOT HAVE A NAME."
And then—
"That's alright. Until we think of a better one, I'll call you Tomorrow."
The memory ended.
Lucien closed his eyes.
"Oh."
"There it is."
He ignored that.
"Why Tomorrow?"
The figure—Tomorrow—looked toward the endless darkness surrounding them.
"Because you said tomorrow was when good things happened."
Silence.
"That sounds naive."
"It was."
"Reasonable, though."
Tomorrow laughed softly.
"That was your next sentence."
Of course it was.
Lucien was beginning to suspect that he had been alarmingly consistent across multiple lifetimes.
The final door remained closed behind Tomorrow.
Waiting.
Patient.
Like everything else.
"What is behind the door?"
Tomorrow was quiet for several moments.
Then—
"The reason you keep coming back."
Dangerous.
Everything was dangerous.
"I've been given several reasons already."
"I know."
"They're beginning to accumulate."
"Yes."
Lucien resisted the urge to develop another headache.
"Then perhaps you could be more specific."
Tomorrow smiled.
"You built the final door because you were afraid."
Interesting.
"What was I afraid of?"
The answer came immediately.
"That one day, I'd stop waiting."
Silence.
That...
No.
Absolutely not.
"I refuse."
"You always do."
"No."
"Yes."
Lucien looked toward the simple wooden door.
"I don't understand."
"I know."
"Stop saying that."
"I've been waiting a very long time. I've developed habits."
Fair.
The lantern suddenly brightened.
Its light spilled across the road, illuminating countless footprints leading to the door.
Lucien froze.
They were all his.
Thousands of them.
No.
More.
Entire lifetimes carved into the stone of existence itself.
"You've been here before."
It wasn't a question.
"Many times."
"And?"
Tomorrow's smile became impossibly sad.
"You always leave."
There it was again.
Always the same story.
Waiting.
Promises.
Goodbyes.
Lucien hated patterns.
"They tell me I come back."
"You do."
"Then why leave?"
Tomorrow didn't answer immediately.
Instead, they walked to the chair and sat down once more.
"Would you like some tea?"
Silence.
"What?"
"I've found it helps with difficult conversations."
"Everyone keeps offering me tea."
"That's because you taught us to."
Of course.
Naturally.
Lucien accepted the cup without entirely understanding why.
It tasted like sunlight on a winter morning.
He found that deeply suspicious.
"How many times have we had this conversation?"
Tomorrow looked toward the stars.
"Thirty-eight."
The number settled heavily in the silence.
"This is the thirty-ninth."
Lucien's hand tightened around the cup.
"I don't remember."
"I know."
"No, I mean..." He paused. "Does it ever bother you?"
Tomorrow looked genuinely surprised.
"What?"
"That I forget."
Silence.
Then, softly—
"No."
The answer caught him completely off guard.
"Why not?"
Tomorrow smiled.
"Because you always remember the important parts."
"And those are?"
The lantern's light reflected in impossible eyes.
"You always say hello."
Something broke.
Small.
Human.
Dangerous.
"What?"
"The first thing you ever said to me."
The stars beyond the road dimmed.
"The first thing you've said to me in every life."
Tomorrow's smile trembled slightly.
"Even when you forget everything else..."
Their voice grew impossibly gentle.
"...you always stop, look at me, and say hello."
Lucien found himself unable to breathe.
A memory surfaced.
Then another.
And another.
An endless darkness.
A lonely voice.
And across countless lifetimes, the same answer.
"Hello."
The cup in his hand had gone cold.
Interesting.
He hadn't noticed.
Tomorrow slowly stood.
"Would you like to know a secret?"
Lucien nodded before realizing he had done so.
"The final door doesn't keep me inside."
Silence.
"What?"
"It never did."
Tomorrow placed one hand against the wooden surface.
"You built it to keep yourself out."
The world stopped.
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Lucien."
"What?"
"You were afraid that if you remembered me completely..."
Tomorrow's expression became impossibly sad.
"...you would never be able to leave again."
The key in Lucien's hand began to shine.
The final door creaked open by a single inch.
And from the darkness beyond, he heard something impossible.
His own voice.
Crying.