the last sovereign of infinity

Lucien had survived many things throughout his existence.

Wars.

Gods.

His own decision-making.

He had died, returned, and accumulated enough unresolved emotional complications to permanently overwhelm several civilizations.

Yet, standing beneath the first dawn while an impossible number of people waited patiently for him to sit down for dinner, he discovered the one challenge for which he was entirely unprepared.

Social interaction.

"There are too many tables."

The observation felt important.

The first dawn had somehow transformed itself.

The endless field now contained tables stretching beyond the horizon, each covered with food Lucien either recognized, vaguely remembered, or was reasonably certain violated several natural laws.

One entire table appeared to consist exclusively of desserts.

Interesting.

"Who made all of this?"

"Everyone."

"That remains an unhelpful answer."

Tomorrow smiled.

"You taught people that food tastes better when shared."

"That sounds like something I'd say."

"It was."

"Did I believe it?"

"No."

"Excellent."

Fair.

The child beside him laughed.

"You said sharing food was simply an excuse to keep people from leaving too quickly."

Lucien considered this.

"That sounds significantly more accurate."

The Dragon King had somehow positioned himself beside an enormous section of roasted meat.

Lucien decided not to ask where it had come from.

Some questions, he had learned, improved through neglect.

"You are expected to give a speech."

Silence.

Lucien slowly turned toward the ancient dragon.

"I beg your pardon?"

"A speech."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Lucien."

"What?"

"You have been dead, missing, reincarnated, or otherwise unavailable for fourteen billion years."

"That seems like an exaggeration."

"It isn't."

Fair.

Lucien looked toward the horizon.

Millions of people.

Possibly more.

All waiting.

Interesting.

He immediately disliked this development.

"I refuse."

"You said that about the moon."

"We do not discuss the moon."

"That's fair."

Apparently, some historical incidents remained sufficiently embarrassing to transcend multiple lifetimes.

Tomorrow gently took his arm.

"It doesn't have to be long."

"That is not the issue."

"What is?"

Lucien considered the question.

Then, honestly—

"I don't know how to stay."

Silence.

The first dawn grew quieter.

Interesting.

That sentence had escaped before he could stop it.

Dangerous.

Very dangerous.

The child who remembered every goodbye squeezed his hand.

"We know."

"Please stop saying that."

"No."

Fair.

Tomorrow's expression softened.

"You've spent fourteen billion years learning how to leave."

The stars above the gathering brightened.

"It's alright if staying takes practice."

The simplicity of the answer caught him entirely off guard.

Practice.

Not destiny.

Not obligation.

Just practice.

Interesting.

That was unexpectedly reasonable.

A memory surfaced.

A younger Lucien teaching Astrael how to read.

"I'm terrible at this."

"That's because you've only been alive for three weeks."

"How long until I'm good?"

"Unknown."

"That's unhelpful."

"Welcome to existence."

The memory faded.

"Oh."

"There it is."

Lucien ignored himself.

Apparently, he had always been insufferable.

The silver-haired Architect suddenly appeared carrying two cups of tea.

Naturally.

Lucien was beginning to suspect that tea existed independently of causality.

"You once told me that staying is just leaving in reverse."

Silence.

"That sounds ridiculous."

"It did at the time."

"And now?"

The Architect smiled.

"Now I think you were right."

Dangerous.

Compliments from immortal beings carried entirely too much emotional weight.

The crowd had begun settling into their seats now.

Lucien noticed that no one had started eating.

Interesting.

"They're waiting."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Tomorrow blinked.

"Because you're here."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"It does, actually."

Fair.

Lucien remained silent for several moments.

Then, reluctantly, he walked toward the center of the gathering.

The conversations gradually quieted.

Millions of eyes turned toward him.

He immediately regretted every decision that had led to this moment.

"There are entirely too many of you."

Laughter.

Interesting.

That had not been his intention.

"I've been informed that I am expected to give a speech."

More laughter.

"This seems deeply unreasonable."

The Dragon King raised a claw.

"Objection denied."

Traitor.

Lucien looked across the endless gathering.

At dragons and stars.

At Architects and children.

At family.

Dangerous.

That word remained dangerous.

"I don't remember all of your names."

Silence settled gently over the field.

"I've tried."

The lantern at the edge of existence brightened.

"And apparently, I spent a significant amount of time writing them down."

Soft laughter.

"I also don't understand why any of you continued waiting."

Tomorrow smiled.

"We've discussed this."

"I know."

The answer surprised him.

The entire gathering went still.

Interesting.

He had apparently said something important.

Lucien looked toward the first sunrise.

Then toward the distant light at the edge of the next universe.

Then back toward the people waiting for him.

"I spent a very long time believing that coming home would be the end of my story."

Silence.

"I was wrong."

The stars brightened overhead.

"Which is unfortunate, because I dislike being wrong."

Laughter again.

Dangerous.

People seemed entirely too willing to encourage him.

"But..."

He paused.

The word felt strangely heavy.

"I think I finally understand something."

Tomorrow's eyes widened slightly.

"What is it?" Astrael asked quietly.

Lucien was silent for a long moment.

Then—

"Home was never a place I was trying to reach."

The first dawn stopped moving.

"It was something we were building."

No one spoke.

"One promise at a time."

The Lantern beyond the final door brightened.

"One lonely person at a time."

The stars themselves seemed to lean closer.

"One hello at a time."

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Lucien found himself smiling.

A dangerous and increasingly common occurrence.

"So, if you'll forgive me..."

He looked toward the distant light beyond existence.

"I believe there is still work to do."

The universe laughed.

Not with sadness.

Not this time.

With understanding.

Tomorrow stood and raised a cup of tea.

"To Lucien."

Millions of voices answered.

"To Lucien."

The child who remembered every goodbye laughed through tears.

"To the boy who always comes back."

The Dragon King lowered his head.

"To the one who taught dragons to wait."

Sol's voice echoed across existence itself.

"TO THE FIRST KINDNESS."

Lucien immediately objected.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Lucien."

"What?"

Tomorrow's smile carried all the warmth of the first dawn.

"Welcome home."

Silence.

Lucien looked around.

At the impossible family.

At the endless tables.

At the universe that had waited.

Then, quietly—

"Oh."

"There it is.

And this time, for the first time since before the stars, he finally understood what the words meant.

They meant he could leave for a little while.

Because now...

He knew exactly where he would return.