"I have another daughter… my youngest," Night said at last, giving a small shrug, as if even speaking of her wasn't worth the effort. She didn't care to waste any more thought recalling what she felt was unimportant.
"Tell me about your youngest. Does she seek your attention?" the psychotherapist asked, her tone calm but curious.
Night blinked, momentarily stunned by the question, before answering. "Yes. She is always bothering me, always wanting attention." Her words were dismissive, but there was no denying the truth in them. "My second oldest blames me for the change. One could say, in the past, she was the embodiment of Delight. And now… she is Delirium. At least, that's what others describe her as." Night shrugged again, as though even this transformation was nothing more than an inconvenience.
"Does she smoke and such things?" the psychotherapist asked with a frown, his pen hovering over the page.
Night only shrugged, showing no sign of concern. She neither knew nor cared to know. Her attention was already drifting elsewhere, searching for something—anything—that might actually be worth her interest.
"But she does seem to carry the smell of someone who does that kind of stuff," Night added lazily, her words almost slurring as she leaned back, already half-asleep.
"I can't do this," the psychotherapist muttered, shaking her head. "I have never seen anyone show such little regard for someone they brought into this world. As a mother, I'm disgusted to think there is someone like you walking around, treating your daughter in this way." Her voice was firm, unable to let such indifference pass unchallenged.
"I do not disregard my children… I knew this would be a waste of my time," Night said in clear annoyance, her tone sharp.
]
"You're self-centered," the psychotherapist replied firmly. "When things don't suit your ideals, you refuse to accept them. You treat your children as if love were optional, as if you could choose between giving it or withholding it whenever you please."
Night's eyes narrowed as she slowly turned to look at her. "I brought my children into this world as their mother. They should be grateful to me," she said angrily. "And yet, all I have seen are children—and even their father—who constantly refuse to show me the respect I deserve for my effort."
"The last I checked, I didn't ask to be born. No one asks to be born—our parents bring us into this world without our consent. So tell me, why would anyone want to be born to a mother like you?" the psychotherapist said angrily, her words striking like a whip. "A parent's duty is to make sure their child's life is worth living. But you? You've twisted that duty, forcing everyone to live a life that only fits your ideals, a life without freedom or choice."
Her words enraged Night, who wanted nothing more than to reach out and crush her for the insult. But she couldn't. Rules bound her, and she was forced to swallow her fury.
"You don't know me. Don't act like you do," Night said sharply, her anger still spilling through her voice.
"Then tell me," the psychotherapist pressed, unwavering. "What kind of mother cares so little for her own daughter? A daughter who comes to you seeking warmth, only to be forced to search for it elsewhere. Do you even realize that when a child rebels, it's often just a cry for attention? And with everything you've shown me so far, how much of that have you never given her? What a disgusting, cruel mother you are."
Her words cut deep into the silence, leaving Night still and quiet.
"I will not stand here and be judged." With that, Night turned and left in anger. She hadn't come here to be lectured or criticized. She knew she was a good mother, and she wouldn't tolerate such disrespect.
She returned to her domain, but even there she couldn't find peace. The words lingered, clinging to her, and her thoughts drifted back again and again to Time's actions. Gritting her teeth, she moved toward a vast pool of darkness and lowered herself into its depths. The cold shadow wrapped around her, but her mind refused to still. Images and voices raced through her thoughts, leaving her restless and unsettled.
Finally, she rose, stepping out of the bath as liquid darkness slipped away from her skin. With a thought, clothing materialized over her body, fitting perfectly as always. Without hesitation, she vanished from her realm, reappearing at the very edge of creation itself. There, waiting as though he had been expecting her, sat a man in a black suit, leaning back comfortably in his chair.
"Night, looks like you're also having trouble as a parent?" the Presence said with a faint smile, as if he'd been expecting her.
"How do you do it? With Lucifer running around blaming you?" she asked, exhausted and defensive. She'd come to him because she felt justified—she was a good mother.
"I think we're a bit different," the Presence replied softly. "Lucifer's dream is to escape my plan. He has a hard time grasping that just because I'm all-knowing, it doesn't mean he has no free will."
He spoke gently, as if correcting a misunderstanding rather than arguing. He might be all-knowing, but knowledge of the future doesn't erase choice. He can see the choices you will make, but those choices still arise from your own thoughts.
For example, Lucifer had the freedom to rebel against him. Lucifer had the freedom to rule over Hell, scheming endlessly to one day destroy Heaven. Lucifer even had the freedom to abandon Hell entirely and go run a bar on Earth. All of those were Lucifer's choices. Yes, the Presence knew every one of them would happen, but he allowed it all, because free will meant Lucifer had the right to choose for himself.
"Lucifer became like that because you were so hands-free in his upbringing," Night said lightly, her tone carrying both judgment and dismissal. "You just created him and then sat back, watching Michael, Lucifer, and Gabriel without guiding them."
The first beings to come into creation were the 3 brothers, who had created the two, Night and Time themselves. Night, the embodiment of Space. And Time… the embodiment of time itself.
She was the very concept of space—whether fourth, fifth, or whatever higher dimension; wherever there was space, it was her. The space in dreams, the space in waking reality—every kind of space was her. In a sense, she was the DCverse made physical, but even that vastness meant nothing without her counterpart, Time. Space could not exist alone; it needed time.
"Lucifer inherited my will," the Presence said softly. "He was fated to clash with the way I want to shape things. If I wanted to go left, he would question it… and one day he would decide he could do better. As a father, there is very little I can do while still allowing the boy his freedom."
"By the way, how are you liking creation?" the Presence suddenly asked, his tone casual, though the question itself was anything but. Night went quiet for a long moment. What was it that the Presence didn't already know? The only thing that could cloud his knowledge would have to involve the Great Darkness… but surely Night wasn't that… right?
"Do you think I'm a bad mother?" she asked instead.
In the beginning—no, before the beginning, before even Time itself had come into existence—there were only two beings: the Presence and the Great Darkness.
Many might think of the Great Darkness as evil, but that was far from the truth. She was standing now before the Presence as a mother, not a monster. She had never sought to end the multiverse. Her only wish had been to engage with the light, to take part, to observe and experience the endless stories that would unfold across creation.
Long ago, Night had spoken softly: "Your flicker is the only light I get."
To the Great Darkness, the Presence was a little brother, his light something that pulled her in. His creation had fascinated her from the very beginning. She had stepped into it, allowed herself to fall in love, brought forth children… and now she found herself struggling with something rare and unfamiliar—the possibility that she might not be a good parent.
"Try putting your needs and wants aside," the Presence said gently. "Go to Delirium, and put her first, even for a moment. Watch how she reacts, and see what comes of it." He paused briefly, his tone shifting lighter, almost casual. "By the way… about Alex. Was it your doing that he was born?"
"I thought it was you," she said with a shrug, her tone dismissive. The Presence frowned at that, his eyes narrowing as he turned inward, letting his omniscience sweep across the threads of existence. In an instant, he saw the truth. His head snapped toward the endless void—beyond creation itself—into the vast expanse of the Great Darkness.
"I told you to stop letting Death wander next door so often," he said with a weary sigh. Death had been given far too much freedom, and with that freedom came the habit of slipping beyond the borders of creation whenever she wished. She enjoyed taking on the form of a mortal, tasting what it meant to be fragile and finite. Again and again, she left DC's realms, vanishing into places she had no business treading.
"Like she would listen," Night said with an annoyed look. She could try to ground Death, forbid her from leaving, but Death would simply slip away and run off to do her own thing regardless. It was fitting, really—befitting her nature as the most vital and active of the Endless. Death alone was not bound by the same laws and restrictions that shackled her siblings. She could move as she pleased, untethered to the rules the rest of them were forced to obey.
Even Night, for all her power, couldn't do much about it. Death's role was too absolute. At the end of all things, when even creation itself reached its close, it would be Death who shut the book and dimmed the last light. After that, she would be free to walk away into whatever lay beyond. Night suspected she would still choose to carry her title, if only because she enjoyed it—enjoyed being the last companion, the friend every being met at the very end.
But then again, Death had already spoken of her intentions. She had plans to pass her mantle on to Alex. When that time came, she would truly have nothing left to do. Perhaps she would simply wander forever… or perhaps Alex would be the one to bring her end, if that was the path she chose.
"She has been going to Marvel… what is elder brother planning?" The Presence asked, his voice carrying both suspicion and unease. For all his knowledge, he could not see the full extent of his brother's schemes. The One Above All, arrogant as ever, cloaked his plans even from him. Powerful—so powerful that even their sister, vast as she was, could not overpower him if it came to a clash.
But Night didn't care for his caution. She had long grown bitter toward the One Above All. He had tricked her once, persuaded her to split a fragment of herself to merge with his creation. From that deception, Oblivion had been born, along with his domain.
A domain like that should have been absolute, wrapping around all of creation, encompassing it fully. That was her right as the elder sister—the vastness of darkness itself should have been the final veil, the limit and the boundary of all existence. Yet the One Above All rejected even that. He did not stop with one creation. He pushed further, always further, endlessly expanding, building worlds beyond worlds, layers upon layers, his creativity spilling out without restraint.
Night seethed at the thought. She was the greatest, the elder, the one who should have been everything surrounding creation. But her brother had refused to let it be so. If she had not taken even the smallest enjoyment in watching the stories born from his endless weaving, she would have destroyed it all in her wrath.
Night left, leaving the Presence alone in silence. He sat back, his gaze turning toward Alex, thoughts running deep and troubled. His grandnephew was proving to be far more of a problem than he had ever anticipated. First Trigon fell at his hands, then Darkseid, and then Trigon once again. The Presence had never liked either of those beings, yet even the darkest of evils had their place. From their existence, new events, new heroes, and even new lights could be born. But Alex's existence threatened that fragile cycle. By ending such forces too soon, he might erase futures that had yet to take shape.
The Presence's eyes shifted, peering across the infinite walls of creation into another universe entirely—one where a peculiar figure dwelled. Someone who could not die, no matter the circumstances. Every death granted her the powers of those who had struck her down. It was a being he had not created, for such a paradox would shatter the balance of his world. And yet, there she was.
He thought back to Death. Every time she stepped beyond her boundaries, she never returned alone. She carried things with her, things that had no place here. That anomaly had led to Alex's birth—a living paradox.
His eyes shifted beyond the boundaries of creation, piercing past the endless brilliance that wrapped itself around all existence. Beyond even that, his gaze settled upon the vastness of the great darkness, a realm where countless worlds floated like scattered sparks. Among them, his attention lingered on one particular reality, a world caught in contradiction—a paradox in itself. It was born and lived within the darkness, yet the darkness also lived within it. This was the world many call… Marvel.
And then, as though sensing the weight of his gaze, the One Above All looked back. Seated at a simple wooden table, the elder brother appeared as an old man, calmly writing within an ever-growing storybook. The faintest of smiles tugged at his lips, a smile that carried both curiosity. For all his arrogance, he was interested in what his little brother wanted
That smile told the Presence more than words ever could. His brother was not the one behind Alex's existence.. And so the Presence was left with a deeper question—if not him, then who? Who was truly the mastermind behind Alex's birth?