Mercune thrust her arms high as though to invoke Heaven’s aid—or, perhaps, to challenge Heaven. Her green gaze rolled skyward.

  Proto was torn between calling to her and running to her.

  But before he could do either, the world around him melted into mist. It swirled like cream in just-stirred coffee, mingling into a general obscurity. Then, it separated out again, undoing entropy and making new forms.

  Within seconds, Proto found himself within a cylindrical wooden chamber. The place was vast. He would’ve assumed it was a building, but the floors and walls had the smooth curvature of natural growth. The only exception was one deep cleft in the floor, where it looked like someone might’ve tested his strength with an axe blade.

  Faraway booms and crashes could be heard, muffled by the wood walls, as well as wails and screams that were both beast-like and jet-like.

  Some light streamed in from a teardrop-shaped door, but it waxed and waned unreliably. The only other glow came from cell phones, held up by the three people in the chamber—Ausrine, Mannus and Yemos.

  Well, Proto and Mercune were there too. But he was pretty sure he and she weren’t really there, given that no one seemed to notice them.

  Mannus was staring out the doorway, looking torn between disbelief and horror. Yemos also was gazing in that direction, but was several strides back toward the room’s center, holding Ausrine’s hand. She was peering upward, where the shadows swallowed sight, and wordless tears were staining her firelit face.

  For it was fire creating that inconstant glow beyond the doorway, Proto now could see—many fires, distant fires, but enough of them to light the world.

  This was it, Proto realized. The day of fire. The Pandaemonium. When the Elements, stirred from the depths by the prodding of Fyrir’s scientists, wrought infernal ruin upon the world. And here were his three friends, safe within the hollow tree, just as prophesied.

  Ausrine’s gaze sank from the blackness overhead. Along her blonde hair shimmered firelight, sliding upward as her head hung lower.

  She opened her mouth as though to speak, turning until she almost seemed to be facing Proto—or perhaps Mercune, who was beside him. But when Ausrine’s lips moved, words didn’t come out.

  Rather, mists swirled into being around her, quickly spreading. Within moments, the scene had dissolved into a general mirk.

  The fog whirled its way into wisps of whitish grey, separating into thin streams, curlicuing toward something unseen at their center.

  Then, the wisps began clarifying into a sort of garden—trees fraught with varicolored songbirds, grassy hills, and a trail of slate-grey stones, winding through a verdurous valley.

  Far from the trail and to its side, an inconceivably huge tree rose from a shaded gully. Its trunk alone was more than twice as tall as the highest leaves of the ash trees clustered under it. Its bark was coffee-colored, and it bulged with interwoven veins. Thick vines were hanging from crooked branches.

  He’d never seen a tree that tall. He’d never seen a building that tall.

  When he’d been researching Dubai recently, considering whether to try and visit Fyrir there, he’d read about the Burj Khalifa, by far the tallest building in the world. Perhaps it was like this tree.

  Was that the hollow tree? The World Rood? Had Yemos, Ausrine and Mannus been standing inside that?

  Proto was distracted from his thoughts by some movement in the corner of his eye. He turned and found Yemos, Mannus and Ausrine standing near a small tree, fretted with golden apples.

  Facing them was a radiant being. He had a man’s face, young and free of marring, gentle and sympathetic. Platinum hair fell behind his ears and down his back, billowing behind him in the zephyr, preternaturally slow. His frame was lithe but had an unassuming strength, with each muscle pronounced just distinctly enough to make itself known.

  From his head rose two horns, ivory-hued, curling back gracefully over his hair. And from his back rose two wings, vast and feathery white, flapping absently.

  An Element . . . ? Proto recalled seeing them from afar, soaring and raging through the night, at the end of Mercune’s dream. And he remembered how Somnus had described them: “Winged figures with horns are screaming through the red heavens.”

  Proto wondered why Flua-Sahng and Somnus didn’t have wings or horns, like these other Elements. But he supposed a Being like this could probably manifest in whatever form it liked. He recalled Anima and her red-and-purple butterfly wings, flapping fairylike.

  The Element was holding something out atop his palm—a stone shaped like a teardrop, white but semilucent. He was speaking to Proto’s three friends, in the manner of a teacher or instructor. But his speech wasn’t quite audible.

  Proto took a step forward to try and hear; then another step, and another. The words started becoming discernible: “My mother shed both tears and blood. Here is the tear she left behind. It must remain here. But her blood is entrusted to another—”

  Suddenly, the Element cut off. He looked straight in Proto’s direction, tilting his horned head bemusedly, so his long hair fell askew. His lips curved up into a slight smile, and he mouthed a word.

  “Mother”?

  The Being opened his mouth again as though to speak. But this time, what flowed out was mist, swirling around Proto’s friends and enswathing them. Within a few seconds, they were no more than a cloud, spreading across Proto’s sight and whitening the world.

  Once again, everything was changing, whirled by a foggy gyre into a new scene—no, two scenes, he realized after a moment.

  To Proto’s right was a lightly armored warrior in dark blue and grey. He stood alone in a storm, and he seemed to be guarding a leafy doorway. Two horns curved above his long and tannish hair, wet with the rain, and he was wroth unto glaring.

  Facing him was a horde of onrushing men, their faces contorted with gleeful abandon. Most were wielding crude weaponry, though a few with torn-up military and police uniforms had pistols and rifles.

  Studying the slate-grey trail beneath the warrior’s feet, Proto realized it looked like the trail in the garden where Yemos, Mannus and Ausrine had been. Was this the garden’s entrance? Was it being guarded by this man—or, rather, this Element?

  The glare upon the eminent Being’s face was matched by his white longsword, which shone against the tempest’s dark. It fell like lightning on his foes. One after another, they were stricken down.

  Turning to the other scene to his left, Proto saw a similar leafy doorway, guarded by a very different warrior from very different foes.

  This Element was wearing sable armor with reptilian fins. Beneath his helm showed one eye and a grim sneer. He held a tall spear with a wicked black tip, which seemed to absorb the light.

  He was beset by war dogs with foaming mouths and feral-looking men who led them. All of them were covered in tattoos of murder, death and the dead, so many tattoos that their shirtless chests looked armored. So were the dogs, all of which were hairless.

  Beset by them—or were they beset by him?

  He whirled among them like a dervish, unslowed and impervious as he destroyed. Into one breast after another his spear thrust, heaving a foe away, emerging in a spray of black blood. And on he spun, batting off blows with his armor of black, jabbing and sneering, taking life away.

  Seeing this, Proto felt a bit grumpier about his impending car accident. I’ll be leaving this world just as everything gets cool!

  Mists stole upon these twin scenes, obscuring the combatants and their fray. When it dwindled back down after a moment, the foes were still there—all dead upon the floor.

  But the Elements also were lying on the ground, strain on their faces, mostly unmoving. They had no visible wounds. They just looked drained unto emptiness—wan-faced, droopy-eyed, breathing heavily, holding their breasts.

  Their bodies started glowing, dimly at first, but soon waxing bright. A hum rose, swelling until the floor was shivering. The last thing Proto saw before light drowned out sight was the Element with the longsword, clutching his weapon to his breast.

  Then, the deep hum shattered like a thousand glass bells, rung unto breaking all at once. The light faded.

  When eyes could see again, all that was left of the two Elements was two objects—an eye-shaped stone resembling molten obsidian where the dark-armored warrior had been, and the other warrior’s white longsword. Its hilt was imbued with a lightning bolt.

  They left behind Fossils . . . ? wondered Proto, squinting at the objects. Like the Fossil of Flua-Sahng that Fyrir and Mercune have?

  But the scene melted away into whitish wisps before he could study it further.

  The mists now swirled through a series of scenes in rapid succession: First, Proto’s three friends, standing atop a hill and surveying a ruined city skyline.

  Then, a battle of those three against some unseen foe. The thing was slain by Mannus with a crude hatchet, but not before Ausrine took a spiky jab to her gut. She fell to her knees wide-eyed, head sagging, so her blonde hair fell over the red flower blooming on her shirt.

  Then, the three were wandering over a parched and hilly plain—or, rather, Yemos and Mannus were wandering, and Ausrine was in Yemos’ arms. She looked wan and feverish, slick with sweat and mumbling to herself. The twins were facing a smoke trail on the horizon. The elder brother pointed, and the younger nodded.

  Then, the twins stood beside a crater with an inferno raging inside it. They were debating something when, abruptly, Yemos set Ausrine’s limp body against a rock and strode toward the pit. Startled, the blond brother called to him, but the dark-haired brother didn’t reply.

  Yemos stepped into the conflagration. Within seconds, the pyring flames concealed him.

  What . . . ? He’s going to survive the Elements’ rain of fire, just to jump into a firestorm?!

  But the vision continued. And in time, Yemos emerged from the inferno—at least, a figure vaguely recognizable as Yemos.

  Now, though, his body was fringed with flames from neck to toe. His dark hair now was smoldering, charring away into soot as he walked. Only his face was mostly unscathed—just smudged with soot and red with heat.

  In one of Yemos’ hands was a simple grail of grey metal. In the other was a poleax as tall as he was with a long curved blade, emanating light colored vert, the green of nature.

  A bardiche? Is that what it’s called? wondered Proto absently, struggling to recall what he knew of medieval weaponry. Then, he shook his head and focused again on the scene.

  Yemos was approaching Ausrine. Setting aside the weapon for a moment, he lay a hand on her forehead. Somehow, his palm was shedding white radiance, warm like sunshine.

  The woman’s droopy eyes blinked with new life, then squinted up at him. Her mouth fell open as she regarded him.

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  Then, turning away and lifting his bardiche, Yemos rose and approached his brother, as Ausrine reached vainly for him from the ground, still too feeble to follow. The elder twin spoke something inaudible to the younger. He handed over the weapon, followed by the grail, and Mannus accepted them solemnly.

  Then, Yemos raised his arms toward Heaven, looking on high. The fires upon him dwindled into nothing, and his wounds knit themselves away. For an instant, he looked again like the Yemos that Proto knew, young and hale, a wry smile on his face.

  Then, like dry ice melting into mist, something shining wisped out of Yemos’ frame and ascended toward the clouds. His body went limp. He would’ve fallen, but his younger brother caught him.

  Mannus stared down at Yemos’ body and spoke something repeatedly, his face wrenched with pain, but there was no response. He turned to Ausrine, who now was rising and approaching—her eyes gone wide, her lips fallen apart, and one hand reaching toward them.

  Before she touched what she was reaching for, the world abruptly swirled away into mirky indistinction.

  The mists whirled into another scene now, but this one was different. People, places and things took shape, but they were faded and ethereal, almost translucent. Faint outlines of other scenes were overlaid atop it, moving independently, their details not quite discernible.

  The first thing Proto saw was a throne carved from stone. It was covered with inlays of leafy branches, swirling and interweaving into a thicket.

  Atop the throne sat Mannus, but not the Mannus he knew. This man was at least two decades older. His old laddish irreverence was merely a wry curve of lip now, on a face otherwise kingly and grave. His hair ran down his back now and had mostly kept its blond, though with some paling along the temples. His frame had all its former musculature, perhaps even more.

  Seated beside him was Ausrine, alive and well. More than well, really. The years had been kind to the woman, who wore a gown adorned with the morning star.

  Perfection can be improved only by imperfection. And so it was with her—a dimple here, a faint hollowing of the cheeks there, a trace of wistfulness in that playful smile, perhaps remembering what once was.

  Three young men stood before Ausrine and Mannus. All bore enough of a resemblance to Proto’s two friends that their parentage was clear. He studied the differences between them.

  The son at front and center wore a silver circlet with an emerald in the middle. He wore a greatsword on his back, riddled with runes. His face and poise were all calm confidence and effortless mastery.

  To his right stood another man, slightly younger perhaps, with a less serious and more energetic demeanor. He held in one hand the man-high bardiche that had been given to Mannus by Yemos.

  On the left stood another still younger, this one barely a man at all. And yet there was a depth in his grey gaze that went well beyond his years. Somehow, he reminded Proto of Yemos. But it wasn’t in the color of his eyes or hair, both of which were pale, much less his outfit, which was medieval in character.

  Mannus opened his mouth to make some pronouncement.

  At this, the world swirled out into a mistscape. Within moments, another scene started to take shape, much mirkier than those before.

  Proto faintly could see a silver-armored man wielding that same bardiche that Mannus had received from Yemos. Six others were standing with him. He struggled to discern them.

  Then, just like that, the scene dispersed before it’d even taken clear form.

  The mists began rearranging themselves again. But this time, they refused to solidify— continually changing, slowing down toward vague shapes, then whirling back to indistinction. The only exception was one form at the center, which was consolidating toward a manlike figure.

  Proto recognized himself first by the Saturn emblem on the figure’s breast, followed by his whole tracksuit and then his face.

  “I see Possibilities for all things, but you!” The sudden voice startled Proto. It was Mercune. Her gaze was no longer heavenward. It was fixed on Proto, and alight with zeal. “I clear away the Mists and see only more Mists. Who are you?”

  He blinked and wondered what to say.

  But before he had a chance to speak, another woman’s voice jumped in. “I think that’s quite enough, don’t you, Daughter of Life? You’ve made your point, yes?”

  Flua-Sahng strolled into view, taking form as she walked, her radiant raiment shining against the gloom. Some chiding amusement showed on her face.

  Mercune ignored her. Indeed, her green eyes only scrunched harder at the image of Proto at the center of all things.

  Image-Proto was reaching into his tracksuit pocket now and pulling out a red rock. Mercune’s rock. The one he’d found in his pocket one night, only to find it missing the next morning. Time accelerated. Image-Proto lay down to sleep on his couch. And then—

  “Yes, quite enough!” declared the Queen of Heaven firmly, waving a hand.

  The scene abruptly swirled away, leaving them on the reddish plain beneath the star-strewn sky.

  “I see now,” smiled Mercune dreamily. “I get it.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Flua-Sahng frowned, but her lips curved up. “Just one of him wasn’t enough, is that it? Decided you needed two?” She shrugged. “Can’t blame you. Just something about him, isn’t there? The face, I think. Though his clothing’s something special too.” She tittered, eying him.

  It took Proto a moment to realize she wasn’t making fun of his ever-present tracksuit. Rather, he still was wearing his radiant raiment of star-shaped leaves, matching Flua-Sahng.

  Sometimes, it felt like the Fates were competing for laughs, and the only rule was, Proto must be the butt of the joke.

  “I approve!” declared Flua-Sahng, her laughter bubbling out now.

  Mercune, in contrast, just looked reflective. “I could tell something was odd about him from the moment he appeared.” She gestured toward Proto. “I felt déjà vu. Like I already knew him. But I also was pretty sure we’d never met.”

  “It took me a while to understand what was going on. It’s not that I knew him. It’s that he knew me.” Her green eyes gleamed. “I can tell when I peer into his future. Or, his futures. The things he does—they’re based on what he knows about me. They only make sense if he knows me. He says things about me that he can’t possibly know.”

  “Our Sleepwalker here is a rare bird, isn’t he?” nodded Flua-Sahng. “Chaos Progeny. To think, we have two of them at once! You won’t see their like again for a millennium.”

  “Proto, Yemos, and then a millennium? What’s next?” Mercune seemed to be looking over his shoulder. “A wanderer. A prince. Oh, my.” She blinked. “My, he’s interesting!”

  She spun to Flua-Sahng. “Have you seen what he might do? Forget Eremon and Yemos and his apotheosis in the flames—”

  Flua-Sahng flipped up her palm, interrupting, “Enough of that now!”

  Abruptly, Mercune’s image dispersed to mist, wisping away toward the skies.

  “You may be a seer, Proto,” Flua-Sahng continued, turning toward him. “But you’re involved in much too much to be hearing about all that. The Queen of Heaven’s Uncertainty Principle and so forth.”

  “I’m not allowed to see it, but Mercune is?” questioned Proto.

  “Yes. Because she’s . . . mm.” Flua-Sahng trailed off, her lips quirking hesitantly.

  “Because she’s a seer and not a doer,” Proto finished for her. “Or at least, she’s meant to be.”

  Flua-Sahng smiled. “Well said. You hadn’t forgotten that issue then? Just on the backburner? That’s good.”

  She turned wistfully toward where Mercune had stood. “Ah, my little teenage rebel. Little does she know, even rebellion against me is sometimes in my service!”

  “What?” Proto felt like he wasn’t supposed to understand that, like a five year old hearing a wry remark from one parent to the other.

  “I just never know what will happen if I tell you something,” explained Flua-Sahng. “But when she tells you, unprompted by me—well, that always falls within the Fates’ will. Almost always. So whatever happens, it’s not the end of the world. Almost certainly.”

  “Sounds good, almost,” said Proto. “Anyway, what was Mercune saying about Yemos’ . . . apotheosis? I’m not sure what that word means. But was it tied to the way Yemos was getting all radiant? Like Somnus sometimes and, um, you?”

  The Queen of Heaven sighed.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Oh, I’m just regretting not being quick enough,” she answered. “The answer to your question is yes, of course. You’re exactly right.”

  “Ah. Okay.” He frowned. “I . . . get the sense this is something I shouldn’t know about?”

  “Quite right. You shouldn’t!” she agreed. “Which is why I’m going to erase your memories of that when you leave today.”

  Proto blinked.

  “And this memory will be gone for good! Even in the Mists! Unlike all those future possible loves of yours, whom you’ll have to keep re-remembering whenever you cross into the Mists,” she went on. “But I’ll get to that later.”

  “Um,” he began hesitantly, pondering the implications of all this. “Have you ever erased other memories? Besides my memories of choosing a true love, I mean.”

  The Queen of Heaven beamed at him. “It’s unfortunate. I’ll have to erase not only your insight about Yemos, and the moment Mercune told you, but also all sorts of other things flowing from that. Including some things I was happy you had figured out! Or would figure out? Mm, anyway.”

  He tried to follow what she was saying, then shook his head. “Wait, but you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Proto, we don’t have much time. You should ask me questions I might realistically answer,” she admonished.

  He rolled his eyes. “Alright. Any insights about the future, after this version of Mercune’s dream? I mean, setting aside the fact that the world’s going to end in a few centuries, since I didn’t win that tournament today and get a VIP pass and so forth.”

  “Well,” she replied slowly, “you did fail to win that tournament. But the world won’t be ending in a few centuries, Proto. Not along this Fate Road.”

  “Oh, I changed it again? Great. Now I altered the world’s fate by missing a card tournament,” he sighed. “Have I brought about some other doomsday? Is there going be a nuclear war in a few weeks, so there won’t even be anything left for the Elements to destroy? This is, what, Version A-3? We can call this one ‘Proto’s Doomsdate with Red.’”

  “We lasted a millennium again, Proto!” Flua-Sahng giggled and patted his hand, as he blinked. “Or, will last? Would last? The bottom line is, you did it. This wasn’t Version A-3 or Version D-2. It was Version D-1! We’re back on the original Fate Road.”

  “ . . . how?” Proto was befuddled. “I had a plan for getting there. But I failed.”

  “Well. This is where I’d usually say, I can’t tell you that. But actually, I’ve checked, and I can!” Flua-Sahng sounded delighted. “You won’t use this knowledge to botch the future!”

  “Well, that’s good,” he said.

  “Indeed!” she agreed. “So, as you know, you and Red had a great time today. She became quite a bit fonder of you. Which is saying something. Later, Red will mention this to her friend Ausrine, who in turn will mention it to her boyfriend Yemos. Yemos remembers this. Then, on the day of the upcoming cosplay convention, he arranges for Red to see you since—well, I’ll have to leave that part slightly ambiguous. In short, Red doesn’t give Ausrine that car ride. Instead, Mannus and Ausrine ride together that day. And that’s that!” She beamed.

  “Oh. So Mannus drives her to the convention after all, just like I was going for,” mused Proto. “Nice.”

  “Did I say that?” murmured Flua-Sahng.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” She waved dismissively. “Anyway, Proto, you see now? I don’t just hide the ball to spite you. There’s nothing I like more than happy deus ex machina moments like this. I just have so few to give. Blame the Fates.”

  “Well, I’m just glad that’s fixed now,” mused Proto. “You have any idea what a load on your shoulders it is, knowing you’d cut 700 years from the world’s lifespan?”

  “Yes, I certainly do!” she noted grimly. “But I gave it all those years to begin with, so maybe I shouldn’t feel so guilty.”

  “What I feel guilty about now,” said Proto, “is that I’ve indirectly set up my friend’s girlfriend with his own twin brother, so they can have three future sons together.”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t feel bad about that,” Flua-Sahng assured him. “Yemos and Ausrine will be together as long as the Fates allow. And, alas, there’s no possible future where that’s very long. One or the other must shuffle off this mortal coil. And the way things turn out now is exactly how Yemos wanted it.”

  Proto didn’t understand that, and he didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he found himself pondering butterfly effects.

  He’d been striving night and day, literally, to undo the harm he’d caused the future. His striving had led him nowhere.

  Then, in one feeling moment, he’d turned away from striving and let his heart take over, chasing where it led him. He recalled the look in Red’s eyes that had led him to do so—to give up going to the card tournament and help that injured man. Such a minor, trivial thing, compared to all his other efforts. And yet that act had saved the future. Or at least, 700 years of it.

  “People only reach me here by chasing something else. Or someone.” The words echoed through his memory. And in their midst was a queenly figure with pink-and-red butterfly wings, rapturous and ravishing, flapping and flapping.

  Meanwhile, the Queen of Heaven was regarding Proto closely. “I see you’ve acquired a deeper understanding of things. Well, that doesn’t happen every day! Most people never have a moment of insight like the one you just had,” she mused. “In fact, even most versions of you don’t have that moment. But I had faith in you.”

  Proto felt like he was on the verge of something vast and tantalizing. “That’s why I had to spend time at Somnus’ Palace, isn’t it? I had to learn to let that lead me. Not just striving. Feeling that and chasing after it . . . ” He realized the words weren’t quite coherent, but it was the best he could do.

  “Well said!” Flua-Sahng smiled. “But isn’t that what I already told you, some time ago?”

  “Maybe,” he acknowledged. “But I don’t think I fully understood it till now.”

  “Oh, you fully understand now? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Young Man!” The Queen of Heaven sounded rather like his fifth-grade teacher, Miss Beatrice.

  “For example,” she said, “it will be a while before you understand why you had to see all those Possibilities back at Somnus’ Palace—all the ways true love might find a place in your life.”

  “I could tell you why,” she went on. “To learn all you need to learn here in Mercune’s dream, you need to be many different things to Mercune. You can only do so by having many different Protos within you! But you won’t really understand that till you develop your own understanding of it.”

  Proto blinked and tried to wrap his mind around what she was saying. But, indeed, he couldn’t quite stretch his conception around it.

  “And then you’ll finally understand why you feel so much happier when I take back memories from you. Like this.” She snapped her fingers.

  Abruptly, Proto’s memories of the many choices he might make and loves he might have dispersed like mists. And he did feel better, though he couldn’t fully explain why.

  He forgot something else too. He wasn’t sure what it was. It was like he’d been wearing a backpack and suddenly felt lighter as an object was removed from inside. But when he went to check the bag, he couldn’t tell what was missing.

  Proto sighed and didn’t worry about it. Instead, he just surveyed the thousand stars scattered across Heaven.

  Flua-Sahng patted his shoulder. “I know, you’re feeling lost. But nothing is found without being lost. You feel like you know nothing. But that’s okay! That’s good! I lead my own in the love of joys unknown.”

  He turned to study her face, pondering what she’d just said. But he couldn’t see her clearly, for twin streams of mists had started swirling round her.

  “Mysterious Mercune,” said Proto, “has nothing on the Cryptic Queen of Heaven.”

  Flua-Sahng laughed delightedly. “Oh, Proto! I’m so looking forward to what’s coming! Or is it ‘came’?”

  He opened his mouth to say something about tenses and the subjunctive. But before he could do so, the twin streams streaked around him and bore him aloft—one moment, talking to a red-haired Daemon clad in star-shaped leaves, and the next, hurtling away through starry grey.

  And then he passed from one dream into another.