the last sovereign of infinity

Lucien had reached an unfortunate conclusion.

He was remarkably bad at resting.

This should not have surprised him.

After all, he had spent the better part of fourteen billion years operating under the assumption that remaining still for too long would inevitably result in someone, somewhere, becoming lonely.

Unfortunately, existence had apparently adapted around this habit.

The moment he finished his first proper dinner, approximately three million people began encouraging him to take a nap.

He found this deeply suspicious.

"No."

"There it is."

Lucien pointed at Tomorrow.

"I am beginning to suspect that everyone in existence has entered into some form of conspiracy."

"We have."

"Interesting."

"No, not interesting."

Fair.

The first dawn had settled into a comfortable evening. Somehow, the sky now contained both stars and sunrise simultaneously.

Lucien had attempted to question this.

Reality had politely informed him that it was celebrating.

He had elected not to pursue the matter further.

"It has been brought to my attention that I have apparently never slept properly."

Tomorrow nodded.

"Correct."

"I object."

"Noted."

"No, I genuinely object."

"We know."

Of course they did.

The child who remembered every goodbye was currently asleep on Astrael's shoulder. Lucien found himself staring at the sight for reasons he preferred not to examine.

Interesting.

That child had spent fourteen billion years remembering pain.

And now...

He was sleeping.

Dangerous.

That thought was dangerous.

"He looks peaceful."

The words escaped before Lucien could stop them.

Tomorrow's expression softened immediately.

"He is."

Silence.

"He hasn't slept like that before."

Lucien slowly looked toward the First Dream.

"What?"

"He was always afraid you'd leave while he was asleep."

The stars overhead dimmed.

"He didn't want to miss it if you came back."

Something inside Lucien hurt.

Again.

At this point, he was beginning to suspect that possessing emotions was a fundamental design flaw shared by all intelligent life.

"That seems unreasonable."

"It was."

"And?"

"And children rarely are."

Fair.

Lucien had no response to that.

The Dragon King suddenly lowered his head beside the table.

"You are tired."

"I am not."

"You yawned."

"That proves nothing."

"You have yawned seventeen times."

Silence.

Lucien immediately distrusted the accuracy of that statement.

"I refuse to believe you were counting."

"I was."

"Why?"

The Dragon King looked genuinely confused.

"Because I was concerned."

Interesting.

That answer should not have surprised him.

It did.

Apparently, he remained remarkably talented at forgetting that people cared.

This was becoming a recurring problem.

Orion appeared carrying another cup of tea.

Naturally.

Lucien had accepted that tea simply manifested in Orion's presence.

"You know, in your seventh life, you once stayed awake for thirty-one years."

"That seems excessive."

"It was."

"Why?"

"You were worried that the moon looked sad."

Silence.

"We do not discuss the moon."

"That's fair."

The silver-haired Architect coughed quietly.

"For the record, the moon was not sad."

"It looked sad."

"It was an eclipse."

"Those are different words."

Lucien was beginning to suspect that a significant portion of his history consisted of immortal beings unsuccessfully attempting to explain relatively straightforward concepts to him.

This felt unfair.

The distant light at the edge of the next universe flickered once.

Patient.

Waiting.

Lucien noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

Tomorrow noticed him noticing.

Of course they did.

"You can check on it tomorrow."

"I was not planning to."

"You were."

"I wasn't."

"You've already stood up twice."

Interesting.

Lucien slowly looked down.

He was standing.

That seemed problematic.

"I object."

"Noted."

"No, genuinely."

"I know."

He sat back down with considerably more dignity than the situation warranted.

The universe applauded.

"This is becoming increasingly unreasonable."

"You're very popular," Astrael offered helpfully.

"That cannot possibly be the explanation."

"It isn't," Orion said. "The actual explanation is considerably more embarrassing."

Lucien immediately disliked where this was going.

"What explanation?"

Orion smiled.

"The universe likes you."

Silence.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Lucien."

"What?"

"You taught existence how to say hello."

The stars overhead brightened.

"It became somewhat attached."

That...

That seemed excessive.

Lucien was rapidly developing the opinion that existence possessed attachment issues.

This was unfortunate, as he strongly suspected he was responsible.

Tomorrow suddenly stood.

"I've decided."

"That sentence concerns me."

"We're putting you to bed."

Silence.

"I'm sorry?"

Astrael nodded immediately.

"Agreed."

The Dragon King lowered himself onto the ground.

"Reasonable."

Even Sol's voice echoed from somewhere beneath reality itself.

"AT LAST."

Lucien stared.

"I am an ancient being."

"No," Tomorrow corrected gently. "You're tired."

Dangerous.

Very dangerous.

He was becoming increasingly aware that people had developed an unfortunate talent for seeing through him.

This felt invasive.

"I assure you, I have no need for sleep."

"You fell asleep during a war once."

Silence.

"What?"

"It was a very boring war."

"That does not help."

"It didn't help then either."

Fair.

The stars had somehow begun arranging themselves into arrows pointing toward a small house in the distance.

Interesting.

He had not noticed the house before.

Of course there was a house.

There was always a house.

"Whose house is that?"

Tomorrow smiled.

"Yours."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"You built it yourself."

Lucien stared at the distant building.

It looked...

Warm.

There was a lantern hanging beside the door.

Of course there was.

"This feels manipulative."

"It is."

"Thank you for your honesty."

"We've had a lot of time to prepare."

That somehow made it worse.

Lucien looked toward the distant light at the edge of the next universe.

Still waiting.

Still patient.

Interesting.

It no longer felt urgent.

That realization unsettled him more than anything else.

For the first time in fourteen billion years, he did not feel compelled to immediately answer a lonely voice in the dark.

Not because he had changed.

But because...

He knew he would still be there tomorrow.

"Oh."

"There it is."

This time, he said it before anyone else could.

Silence followed.

Then laughter.

Tomorrow smiled so brightly that the first dawn itself seemed to pale in comparison.

"You remembered."

"I dislike that statement."

"I know."

Lucien stood slowly.

"I will investigate this alleged house."

"Of course."

"And if I determine it unsuitable, I reserve the right to complain."

"Naturally."

"Extensively."

"We'd be disappointed otherwise."

Fair.

As he walked toward the lantern hanging beside his door, Lucien found himself thinking something deeply troubling.

Perhaps...

Just perhaps...

Resting was simply another promise.

Not to others.

But to himself.

And if there was one thing Lucien had learned across fourteen billion years...

It was that promises, eventually, always found a way to be kept.