the last sovereign of infinity

Lucien awoke to birds.

This, in itself, was deeply offensive.

He had expected many things after finally allowing himself to sleep.

Visions of ancient wars would have been acceptable.

Prophetic dreams regarding the fate of existence would have been understandable.

Even another conversation with a cosmic entity hiding behind an unnecessarily symbolic door would have been consistent with recent events.

Birds, however, suggested a complete lack of respect for narrative tension.

He opened one eye.

Morning light streamed through the window beside his bed, painting the room in shades of gold and amber. The lantern still burned softly upon the nightstand, though its light had dimmed beneath the dawn.

Interesting.

The world still existed.

This surprised him slightly.

"You've been asleep for twelve hours."

Lucien slowly sat upright.

Tomorrow sat comfortably in the chair beside the window, reading one of the books from the shelf. They looked entirely too pleased with themselves.

"Twelve hours."

"Yes."

"That seems excessive."

"It isn't."

"By my standards, it is."

"Your standards are terrible."

Fair.

Lucien glanced toward the window.

The first dawn remained.

Interesting.

He had half expected it to disappear while he slept, as though reality might decide he had enjoyed himself sufficiently and return to normal.

Instead, the sky looked brighter.

Calmer.

And, somehow, happier.

He deeply distrusted happy skies.

"They've been doing that."

Lucien looked toward Tomorrow.

"What?"

"Changing colors whenever you're emotional."

Silence.

"I object."

"Noted."

"No, genuinely."

"We know."

Of course they did.

Lucien rose from the bed and immediately noticed two things.

First, someone had placed a cup of tea on the nightstand.

Second, there was a note attached to it.

He immediately disliked notes.

They had an unfortunate tendency toward sentimentality.

The note read:

«Good morning.

Please do not attempt to save another universe before breakfast.

We're serious this time.

—Everyone»

Silence.

"This feels targeted."

"It is."

Lucien picked up the tea.

It was still warm.

Interesting.

"How?"

"The universe helped."

"That explanation remains deeply unsatisfying."

"It usually is."

Fair.

He walked toward the window and looked out across the hill.

The sight that greeted him caused him to stop.

The garden had grown.

Substantially.

There had been perhaps a hundred Dawn Lilies yesterday.

There were now thousands.

Interesting.

"I was asleep for twelve hours."

"Yes."

"Why has my garden declared war on mathematics?"

Tomorrow looked up from their book.

"Oh, that's normal."

"There is nothing normal about this."

"The flowers bloom whenever you're happy."

Silence.

Lucien slowly turned.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The first time it happened, you spent three weeks insisting it was a coincidence."

"It was."

"It wasn't."

"How many flowers are there now?"

Tomorrow considered the question.

"Approximately eleven thousand."

"That seems excessive."

"It does."

Lucien stared out the window.

Eleven thousand flowers.

He had been asleep for twelve hours.

Interesting.

He was apparently significantly happier than previously estimated.

This was concerning.

A knock sounded at the front door.

Three knocks.

Warm.

Familiar.

Lucien immediately frowned.

"Who is it?"

"Breakfast."

The voice belonged to Astrael.

Interesting.

"Breakfast is a person now?"

"It can be if you're sufficiently creative!"

That...

That sounded like something he would say.

Dangerous.

Very dangerous.

Lucien opened the front door.

Astrael stood outside carrying a basket nearly twice his size. Beside him stood the child who remembered every goodbye, Orion, and, somehow, the Dragon King.

The Dragon King was carrying pancakes.

Lucien decided not to question this.

Some mysteries improved through preservation.

"Good morning."

Lucien stared.

"You are all aware that I live here now."

"Yes."

"And?"

"We missed saying good morning."

Silence.

That answer was unacceptable.

Unfortunately, it was also effective.

The child smiled up at him.

"You've been gone for a really long time."

"Fourteen billion years."

"Exactly."

"That seems like an excessive amount of time to continue counting."

"We had practice."

Fair.

The Dragon King carefully placed an enormous plate upon the table.

"You slept peacefully."

It wasn't a question.

Lucien found himself strangely reluctant to answer.

"Apparently."

The ancient dragon was silent for several moments.

Then, quietly—

"Good."

Dangerous.

That word had become dangerous.

Breakfast proved to be an unexpectedly complicated affair.

Apparently, once an immortal civilization discovered that you had never experienced a proper family breakfast, they became alarmingly determined to rectify the situation.

This resulted in Lucien finding himself seated between Astrael and Tomorrow while approximately forty-seven people attempted to ensure he consumed sufficient food.

"This remains unreasonable."

"No," Orion said while pouring more tea into his cup. "This is actually quite normal."

"By whose standards?"

"Families."

Interesting.

Lucien disliked how often that word had begun appearing in conversation.

It carried entirely too much emotional significance.

Halfway through breakfast, the distant light at the edge of the next universe flickered once more.

He noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

This time, however, he did not stand.

Interesting.

The realization struck him harder than expected.

Tomorrow noticed immediately.

"You stayed seated."

"I noticed."

"How do you feel?"

Lucien considered the question.

Then, honestly—

"Confused."

"That's progress."

"How?"

"Previously, you would've already been halfway there."

Fair.

That was, unfortunately, fair.

The light flickered again.

Patient.

Waiting.

And for the first time in all his lives, Lucien understood something important.

Waiting did not always have to hurt.

Sometimes...

It could simply mean trusting that someone would come when they were ready.

Dangerous.

That thought was profoundly dangerous.

"You taught us that too."

Lucien looked toward Tomorrow.

"I don't remember doing so."

"You rarely do."

The First Dream smiled softly.

"You once told Astrael that love is just trust stretched across time."

Silence.

"That sounds unreasonably poetic."

"It was raining."

"That explains nothing."

"It explains everything."

Fair.

Breakfast ended slowly.

No one seemed particularly eager to leave.

Lucien found that he wasn't either.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

As the morning stretched onward, he found himself sitting upon the porch beside Tomorrow, watching the Dawn Lilies sway gently beneath the first sunlight.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes?"

"I have a question."

"That's usually dangerous."

"Fair."

Lucien was quiet for a moment.

Then—

"Do you think it's alright?"

Tomorrow looked toward him.

"What is?"

"To be happy."

Silence.

The question lingered in the morning air.

Finally, the First Dream smiled.

"Lucien."

"What?"

"You died saving the universe."

"Apparently."

"You've spent fourteen billion years trying to come home."

"Also apparently."

"And now you're asking permission to enjoy breakfast."

When phrased that way, it did sound somewhat unreasonable.

"A little."

Tomorrow laughed softly.

Then, gently, they rested their head against his shoulder.

"I think," they whispered, "the universe would be very disappointed if you didn't."

Lucien looked out across the endless dawn.

At the flowers.

At the house.

At the people who had waited.

And somewhere, far beyond the horizon, a lonely light still burned patiently in the dark.

It would wait.

He knew that now.

Because after all this time...

So had he.