Ten more summers had passed, possibly more. Possibly many more. It was impossible to keep track of the seasons anymore. Callum’s steps left the only tracks to be seen on the path. He walked roads that once had names, through cities that once had kings. But now they were nothing. empty stone lanes, hollow towers, broken statues that honored people long forgotten.

  The Ark pulled him onward. On and on, in an almost straight line these days.

  As he walked on, the path was slowly surrounded by a city materializing from shadow and ash. A wrought-iron gate appeared where there had been none. Its hinges shockingly bore no rust. A flickering lantern burned beside it. And beyond this gate, rows of tents, stalls, archways strung with faded cloth.

  Callum stepped forward, confused. The air shimmered with the faint scent of spice, wet ink and danger.

  The Night Market. He did not know its name. But the Ark had brought him here or... perhaps it came to Callum.

  The stalls were quiet, empty and devoid of life. At the end of the road, there was a humble shop with the lanterns still lit. Inside, there was a ledger open on a counter and a man behind it, dipping his quill into a heavy inkwell.

  “Busy day,” the man muttered without looking up. “Very busy indeed.”

  His dark, tousled wavy hair is parted to either side, with pointed ears poking out from beneath the barely shoulder length style. His face is thin and gaunt, deceptively young if not for his stern, wise eyes. Eyes that carry a faint red glow.

  Callum approached, slow and wary. The man continued writing, pausing to acknowledge his customer.

  “Oh,” he sarcastically said, glancing up. “You're slightly earlier than expected.”

  Callum’s voice was steady. “Who are you?”

  The man sighed, set his quill down, and leaned forward over the desk.

  “Mepho,” he said simply. “Owner of this fine establishment."

  Stolen novel; please report.

  He nodded toward the Ark. “And I imagine you’re here for the purpose.”

  Callum tensed. The Ark did not want him here. The pull behind him was strong, vehemently opposing.

  Mepho noticed, and slightly smirked.

  “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t harm you. Quite the opposite, I’m offering you rest. Peace, even. A little resolution before the lights go out.” He gestured vaguely toward the dead world around them. “All things come to an end, after all. Purposes. Paths. Worlds.”

  Callum shook his head. “I cannot. The path continues. It does not end here.”

  Mepho raised a brow. “Doesn't it?” He stood slowly, smoothing out the front of his worn vest. “And how long has it been, exactly, since you’ve seen another person, Bearer?”

  Callum said nothing.

  Mepho stepped around the counter, hands behind his back. His tone softened, but the bemusement never left his eyes.

  “There are no people left, Bearer. You’ve noticed it, the silence. The absence. The last man died today, alone and struggling for warmth. You are, by every definition… the last one. You are alone.”

  Mepho gave a theatrical shrug.

  “You're only here, now, in my shop, because I had the Market moved here to greet you. I had to pull some strings with the others; they didn't see the point. Everyone else has already left.” He motioned at all the empty stalls and shops. "Soon, this too will vanish. And you will truly be alone."

  Callum looked back at the Ark, understanding, then to at Mepho. “It was you. You sold the idea of an Ark to the learned men.”

  “Yes,” Mepho replied cheerfully. “And for cheap, I might add. I barely made profit.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Only because one day, today, I hoped to collect on the interest.”

  Callum’s grip on the Ark’s straps tightened. The pain between his shoulders was nearly unbearable now; the Ark pulled, urgently, away from Mepho.

  “I will follow the path,” he said. “I will see it through.”

  Mepho sighed through his teeth. “Oh, very noble. Very poetic. I assumed as much as I watched you these years. Fine.” He waved his hand as if dismissing a stubborn child. “Take your precious stone and go. But don’t expect applause. Don’t expect a soul to witness the end. Enjoy... whatever awaits you. We won't return.”

  Callum turned. He didn’t reply. The Ark’s weight still felt heavy, but somehow steadier, as if it approved of his choice.

  Behind him, the Market began to vanish. The stalls folded in on themselves like smoke curling into itself. The lanterns dimmed and blinked out. Even the cobbles beneath his boots softened into ash.

  He paused once and looked back.

  Mepho stood alone in the dissolving darkness, watching him go. When he saw Callum glance his way, he gave a slow, disapproving shake of the head and rolled his eyes.

  And then Mepho, too, was gone.

  Callum stood in silence. There was no wind, no birdsong, no sky, only a dark, gray emptiness. The path stretched before him now featureless and endless as it carried on into the wastes of a world that once was.

  He wept deep sobs without shame. Not for himself, but for what had been lost. And for the first time since taking up the Ark, he questioned silently to himself if the path still meant anything at all. He questioned what the point of this purpose was after all. He started to walk, but the exhaustion became too much. He laid down, to sleep, to rest, if only for awhile.