THE UNIVERSE OF ARGUS. The Oldest Children
The planet Orzon hung in the void like a forgotten jewel—green and blue, with swirls of gold across its atmosphere. From orbit, it looked like any other civilized world. But Kara, a traveler of the multiverse, had learned long ago that looks were the universe's favorite lie.
She materialized in the central plaza of what seemed to be the capital city.
And froze.
Children. Everywhere. But not playing, not laughing, not running. They walked with purpose, dressed in miniature business suits, carrying briefcases that seemed too large for their small hands. Some spoke into communicators with the deadpan efficiency of corporate executives. Others sat at outdoor cafes, discussing what sounded like trade agreements and planetary politics.
And holding their hands... were the elderly.
Old men and women in colorful children's clothes—bright overalls, cartoon-printed shirts, oversized sneakers. Some clutched lollipops. Others rode small scooters, giggling as they zoomed past. A few sat on benches, drawing with chalk on the stone, their wrinkled faces lit with pure, childlike joy.
Kara blinked. Then blinked again.
A man in his thirties walked past, holding the hand of an old woman dressed as a princess from some ancient fairy tale. She was laughing, pointing at a bird.
"Excuse me," Kara called out.
The man stopped. The old woman looked at her with curious, innocent eyes.
"I'm sorry," Kara continued, "but... is this some kind of festival? A holiday?"
The man studied her for a moment. Then he smiled—a knowing, patient smile.
"You're not from here, are you?"
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"No. I just arrived. By ship. From orbit."
The man nodded slowly. He knelt beside the old woman and spoke gently: "Grandmother, wait here for a moment. I need to explain things to our visitor."
The old woman nodded, already distracted by a butterfly.
The man stood and faced Kara.
"We age backward," he confirmed. "When we are born—at what you would call one year old—our bodies are one hundred. Ancient. Wrinkled. But our minds are empty. Pure. Like newborns."
He smiled at her confusion.
"At ninety-nine, we learn to walk. At ninety-eight, we speak our first full sentences. By eighty-five … we are adults. We work. We build. We love. We remember enough to function. But the best is yet to come."
He pointed at a group running through the plaza—no, not teenagers. They were in their forties, maybe fifties, with smooth skin and boundless energy.
"They are in their second youth. Strong. Fast. They learn new skills in days that would take you months. And when they reach..."
His voice softened.
"...they return to the cycle. Reborn. The oldest become the youngest, and the universe begins again."
Kara stood in silence, watching the impossible dance of time before her. An old woman in a superhero costume ran past, chased by a young boy in a business suit who was laughing with genuine happiness.
"We have no death," the man said quietly. "We have only... change."
Kara bowed her head in respect.
"Your world is beautiful," she said. "And strange. And more wonderful than anything I've seen in a thousand universes."
The man smiled.
"Stay if you wish. We welcome travelers. But be warned..." He winked. "...our children drive a hard bargain in business negotiations. Don't let their gray hair fool you."
Kara laughed—a real, warm laugh that echoed across the plaza.
She stayed for three days. She walked through cities where the oldest played in parks and the youngest governed with ancient wisdom. She sat with a two-year-old who looked a hundred and listened to stories of stars long dead. She played chess with a woman of eighty who giggled like a child with every move.
And when she finally left, stepping through her portal to continue her journey across the multiverse, she carried with her one truth:
Some worlds teach you about time.
Others teach you that time is just a story—and stories can be told backwards, forwards, and every way in between.
