the last sovereign of infinity

Lucien had spent the better part of his existence misunderstanding himself.

This was not a new revelation.

At this point, it was becoming something of a personality trait.

He had believed himself to be many things throughout his countless lives.

A survivor.

A king.

A monster.

A teacher.

A wanderer.

Apparently, on one memorable occasion, an argumentatively inclined individual engaged in a prolonged disagreement with gravity.

He had worn many names.

Yet, standing within the small room beyond the final door, listening to a child version of himself explain the fundamental truth of his existence, Lucien discovered that he had somehow overlooked the simplest answer.

He was a boy trying to go home.

He found that deeply unfair.

The lantern hanging beside the window continued to burn with a soft, golden light.

It had apparently been burning for fourteen billion years.

Lucien had developed strong opinions regarding this.

"That seems excessive."

Tomorrow, who remained leaning against the doorway, smiled softly.

"It was."

"No, I mean objectively."

"I know."

Lucien pointed accusingly at the lantern.

"Why is it still lit?"

Tomorrow blinked.

"Because I left it on."

"For fourteen billion years."

"Yes."

"That seems impractical."

"I had time."

Fair.

Lucien was beginning to suspect that eternity was largely defined by finding increasingly creative methods of waiting.

The child beside him laughed quietly.

"You said that too."

"I've been informed that I repeat myself."

"Only the important things."

Dangerous.

That sentence was dangerous.

Everything had become dangerous.

Lucien walked toward the lantern slowly.

It was smaller than he had expected.

Simple.

Unremarkable.

The frame was old wood. The glass was slightly cracked in one corner.

He stopped.

The crack.

It felt familiar.

"When did this happen?"

Tomorrow's expression softened immediately.

"The third time."

Silence.

"What happened during the third time?"

Tomorrow hesitated.

"You were in a hurry."

That answer somehow explained absolutely nothing while simultaneously explaining everything.

Lucien rested one hand against the lantern.

The memory struck immediately.

A child running through endless darkness.

A lantern clutched tightly against his chest.

"WAIT!"

A voice calling after him.

"YOU'LL BREAK IT!"

"THEN FIX IT WHILE I'M GONE!"

"THAT IS NOT HOW REPAIR WORKS!"

"YOU HAVE FOREVER! FIGURE IT OUT!"

The memory ended.

Lucien stared at the lantern.

"Oh."

"There it is."

He ignored them.

"I was somewhat unreasonable."

Tomorrow laughed.

"You kissed my forehead before you left."

Silence.

"What?"

"You said..." Tomorrow's voice became quieter, "'I'm borrowing forever for a little while. Don't go anywhere while I'm gone.'"

The room fell silent.

Lucien found that his chest hurt again.

He was becoming increasingly exhausted by possessing emotions.

"I say remarkably irresponsible things."

"Constantly."

"Interesting."

"No, concerning."

Fair.

The child version of himself had climbed back onto the bed at some point and was now watching him with open curiosity.

"You know, I used to count."

Lucien looked toward him.

"Count what?"

"How long we'd been gone."

Silence.

"And?"

"I stopped after the first million years."

Reasonable.

Lucien had no frame of reference for one million years, much less fourteen billion.

"Why stop?"

The child thought about it.

"Because Tomorrow looked sad whenever I told them the number."

Something in the room grew quieter.

Lucien looked toward Tomorrow.

"You were sad."

"Frequently."

"Why?"

Tomorrow smiled.

"Because every time he counted another year, he sounded a little less certain."

Silence.

"What do you mean?"

The child answered instead.

"I started wondering if we'd forgotten on purpose."

The words settled heavily over the room.

"No."

"I know."

The answer was immediate.

"How?"

The child smiled.

"Because even when we forgot everything else..." He pointed toward the lantern. "We always found our way back here eventually."

Lucien followed his gaze.

The lantern's light had changed.

It was brighter now.

Within the glass, he could see reflections.

No.

Memories.

His first life.

His second.

His tenth.

Hundreds.

Thousands.

In every single one, there came a moment when he would stop moving and look toward a horizon no one else could see.

Always west.

Always home.

Interesting.

"You've been calling me."

Tomorrow tilted their head.

"No."

"No?"

"You've been listening."

That...

That was somehow worse.

Lucien looked out the window.

Beyond it, existence stretched endlessly into the distance.

Stars.

Galaxies.

Entire universes.

And somewhere beyond all of them, a small room with a lantern beside its door.

He suddenly understood why the Architects feared him.

Not because he was powerful.

Not because he opened doors.

But because nothing in existence had ever successfully convinced him to stop coming back.

Dangerous.

Very dangerous.

"The First War."

Tomorrow looked toward him.

"What about it?"

"It wasn't about Astrael."

"No."

"It wasn't about the Architects."

"No."

Lucien felt the answer before he spoke it.

"It was about you."

Silence.

Tomorrow's smile trembled.

"Partially."

"Partially?"

"You started many wars for many people."

"That seems irresponsible."

"It was."

"But yes."

Tomorrow looked toward the lantern.

"The First War began because someone told you that forever was too long for anyone to wait."

A memory surfaced.

A throne room.

Ancient beings seated beneath a sky of broken stars.

And his own voice, colder than winter.

"Then I will shorten forever."

The memory shattered.

Lucien closed his eyes.

"Oh."

"There it is."

He ignored them.

"I really was dramatic."

"Profoundly."

The child on the bed laughed.

"You punched an immortal."

"Did it deserve it?"

"It said waiting builds character."

Silence.

"Reasonable response."

"That's what Astrael said."

Of course it was.

Lucien was beginning to suspect he had infected multiple cosmic entities with his worldview.

This felt irresponsible.

The lantern suddenly flickered.

For the first time since entering the room, Tomorrow looked surprised.

"Oh."

"There it is," Lucien said automatically.

Silence.

Tomorrow stared at him.

The child stared at him.

Lucien realized what he had said.

"Interesting."

Tomorrow laughed.

"Welcome back."

"I object to the implications of that statement."

"Noted."

The lantern flickered again.

Then a third time.

The room trembled softly.

"That's new."

Lucien immediately disliked those words.

"What is?"

Tomorrow's expression became unreadable.

"The lantern only does that when—"

A knock echoed through the room.

Not upon the final door.

Upon the front door of the small house.

Everyone froze.

Lucien frowned.

"I was unaware this room possessed a front door."

"It didn't."

"That's concerning."

The knock came again.

Three slow taps.

The child on the bed suddenly went pale.

"That's impossible."

Lucien looked between them.

"I assume I won't enjoy the explanation."

"No."

Fair.

Tomorrow slowly walked toward the entrance.

"They can't be here."

"Who?"

Silence.

Then, very quietly—

"The ones who existed before me."

The world stopped.

"I'm sorry?"

The lantern's light dimmed.

The stars outside the window went dark.

And from the other side of the door, a voice older than existence itself spoke for the very first time.

"We've come to bring our child home."

Lucien remained perfectly still.

Slowly, he turned toward Tomorrow.

"Do you have parents?"

Tomorrow looked just as shocked as everyone else.

"I..."

For the first time in fourteen billion years, the being called Tomorrow appeared genuinely speechless.

"I don't know."

The knock came a third time.

And somewhere beyond the stars, the entire universe began to remember that even before the First Dream...

Something had been there to dream it.