Q poisoned himself again.
Xheavend looked up from her book.
Watched him sway.
Watched his knees buckle.
Watched him hit the floor.
Then—
looked back down.
"...Idiot."
Across the training chamber, Goro didn't even turn around.
"Three minutes."
"I know."
"Last time you waited four."
"He deserved it."
Q's fingers twitched against the black stone.
"I can hear you."
Xheavend turned a page.
"Then you're not dying."
Silence.
"...Comforting."
"You're welcome."
Two years ago—
Xheavend would have panicked.
Two years ago, the first time Q had deliberately poisoned himself, she'd spent nearly an hour sitting beside him while his body convulsed.
She'd checked his breathing every few seconds.
Held water against his lips.
Threatened Goro when he'd refused to immediately give Q the antidote.
She'd been convinced Q was going to die.
Now?
Xheavend glanced at his fingernails.
Blue around the edges.
Slight trembling in the left hand.
Sweat.
Breathing shallow but consistent.
She reached beside herself.
Green bottle.
No.
Yellow.
She picked it up.
Uncorked it.
Waited another twenty seconds.
Then threw it.
Q caught the bottle without opening his eyes.
"Show-off."
"You taught me."
"I regret that."
"You regret everything."
"Mostly you."
Xheavend smiled.
Q drank.
Goro finally looked over.
His enormous serpentine eyes narrowed.
"Twenty-seven seconds."
Q remained on the floor.
"I was unconscious."
"Excuses."
"I poisoned myself."
"Intentionally."
"That's normally an important distinction."
"Twenty-seven seconds."
Q groaned.
Xheavend hid her smile behind her book.
Two years.
It had been two years.
Not that time had bothered asking permission before moving.
Apparently time did whatever it wanted in the Third Universe.
Sometimes days behaved like days.
Sometimes weeks vanished.
Sometimes Xheavend woke absolutely certain she'd only slept a few hours and discovered considerably more had passed elsewhere.
Rykhan would have hated it.
The thought came unexpectedly.
Her smile disappeared.
She lowered her eyes.
Don't.
She'd gotten very good at that.
Don't think about home.
Don't wonder how much time had passed there.
Don't wonder whether Tavran still checked her bedroom.
Don't wonder whether Varin still stole food from everyone's plates.
Don't wonder whether Rezorin still shouted whenever he lost arguments.
Don't wonder whether Icardà still carried medicine everywhere despite being capable of healing almost anything with his hands.
Don't wonder whether Hries still noticed when everyone was hurting before they did.
Don't wonder whether Mother—
Xheavend shut the book.
Hard.
Q opened one eye from the floor.
Goro looked at her.
Neither said anything.
Good.
She didn't want them to.
She was twelve now.
Twelve.
That number felt strange.
She'd been nine when Yzer took her.
Ten had come quietly.
Eleven hadn't been much better.
Twelve—
apparently involved watching a man repeatedly poison himself while an ancient serpent criticized his recovery time.
Life was weird.
Q pushed himself upright.
His face was still slightly gray.
"Again."
Xheavend stared.
"You just stopped dying."
"Exactly."
"That's not how recovery works."
Q lifted one hand.
Darkness crawled over his fingers.
It gathered.
Compressed.
Bent.
Nothing became something.
A blade slowly formed.
Black.
Thin.
Perfectly balanced.
Two years ago—
Q had spent nearly six hours trying to make a dagger.
It had looked like an arrow.
A terrible arrow.
Xheavend had laughed so hard she'd fallen off the bench.
Q had refused to speak to her for three hours.
Now—
the dagger spun once between his fingers.
Perfect.
Goro nodded.
"Better."
Q looked ridiculously pleased.
Xheavend stood.
"My turn."
Q's expression changed immediately.
"No."
She frowned.
"You said you'd teach me."
"I did teach you."
"Then move."
"Xhea."
"Q."
"You haven't finished yesterday's—"
Darkness gathered between her fingers.
Compressed.
A dagger appeared.
Q stared.
Xheavend examined it.
Tilted it.
"Hm."
She threw it.
The blade crossed the chamber.
Buried itself directly in the center of the target.
Q looked at Goro.
Goro looked at Q.
Xheavend smiled sweetly.
"Six minutes."
Q's eye twitched.
"It took me six days."
"I know."
"You weren't supposed to remember that."
"It was embarrassing."
"I liked you considerably more when you were nine."
"No, you didn't."
"...Fair."
Goro's tail struck Q behind the knees.
Q hit the floor again.
"Stop talking."
Xheavend laughed.
Q swore.
And for several minutes—
everything was normal.
Or whatever normal had become.
Q trained for thirty days.
Rested for seven.
Then disappeared for thirty more.
Missions.
He never told Xheavend exactly what they were.
She stopped asking.
Mostly.
Sometimes he'd return covered in blood that wasn't his.
Sometimes it was his.
Sometimes he'd return without speaking and disappear into his room.
Those were the nights Xheavend left food outside his door.
She never knocked.
Q never thanked her.
The plates were always empty by morning.
Family, Xheavend had learned, was sometimes strange like that.
You didn't always say things.
Sometimes you just left food outside someone's door and pretended you hadn't.
This morning—
Q stood near the entrance to Goro's house fastening the final strap around his arm.
Xheavend leaned against the wall.
"Thirty?"
"Probably."
"Probably?"
"Could be less."
"Could be more."
Q paused.
"Could be more."
She hated that answer.
"Don't die."
He looked at her.
Xheavend immediately frowned.
"Not because I care."
"Obviously."
"It would just be inconvenient."
"Naturally."
"I'd have to find someone else to annoy."
"Tragic."
Q stepped closer.
His hand lifted.
For one horrifying moment, Xheavend thought he might hug her.
She prepared to defend herself.
Instead—
he flicked her forehead.
"Ow!"
"Train."
"I hope you get stabbed."
"There she is."
Then he was gone.
The door closed.
Xheavend stared at it.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Then turned away.
Thirty days.
She could handle thirty days.
She always did.
Goro's house was ridiculous.
There was no kinder way to describe it.
From the street, it looked as though someone had taken an enormous divine serpent—
covered it in living gold—
coiled it around an entire hillside—
and decided:
Yes.
House.
Its gigantic body formed walls, balconies and roofs.
Every scale caught Yrtana's strange crystal-light and reflected it in deep amber waves.
The serpent's head formed the entrance.
Its jaws surrounded the doorway.
Golden fangs curved downward.
There wasn't a doorknob.
Of course there wasn't.
Normal doors were apparently beneath Goro.
Instead, a handprint had been carved into the serpent's tongue.
When recognized—
the gemstone eyes ignited.
One emerald.
One amethyst.
The jaws closed.
The head split down the middle.
And violet light spilled outward.
Xheavend had stopped thinking that was impressive approximately a year ago.
Now it was mostly annoying when she was carrying books.
The interior was worse.
Because the outside lied.
Anyone seeing the enormous golden serpent would expect more gold.
Weapons.
Serpents.
Possibly corpses.
Knowing Goro—
definitely corpses.
Instead—
gothic palace.
Black.
Purple.
Green.
Tall pointed arches disappeared into shadow.
Dark polished floors reflected floating violet flames trapped inside suspended glass vessels.
Luminous green crystals grew through the walls like veins beneath black skin.
Black staircases spiraled around enormous columns carved with serpents devouring their own tails.
And portraits covered everything.
Xheavend hated the portraits.
Not because they were ugly.
Because some showed people who hadn't arrived yet.
Q had discovered that.
He'd recognized someone in one of Goro's paintings months after seeing the portrait.
After that—
he stopped studying them.
Xheavend hadn't.
She studied everything.
Which was why her room had become a disaster.
Books covered her desk.
Maps covered the walls.
Notes covered the maps.
Weapons occupied an entire rack.
Clothes occasionally occupied the floor.
Hrashtari complained about that.
Constantly.
An old ribbon remained tied around one bedpost.
Faded now.
Purple.
From a birthday.
Xheavend had considered removing it.
She hadn't.
This wasn't a guest room.
Nobody called it that.
It was—
hers.
She wasn't sure how she felt about that.
Because Goro's house had become something dangerous.
Something Xheavend hadn't intended.
Home.
Not home.
Not Deepcrest.
Not Mother.
Not Father.
Not her brothers.
Never that.
But—
a home.
Which somehow hurt worse.
Xheavend's second form of training involved considerably fewer weapons.
Usually.
Books were dangerous too.
Especially when thrown hard enough.
"Nothing."
The book struck the wall.
"Nothing!"
Another followed.
Pages exploded.
"Absolutely fucking nothing!"
The third book nearly hit Lster.
He ducked.
"HEY!"
Xheavend froze.
Lster slowly straightened.
Fourteen.
Too tall.
Too smug.
Black training clothes.
Sword at his hip.
And currently holding a piece of bread.
He looked at the book embedded halfway into the wooden cabinet behind him.
Then at Xheavend.
"...Were you trying to kill me?"
"No."
"That wasn't convincing."
"If I were trying, you wouldn't have ducked."
Lster considered that.
"...I hate when you say things like that."
"Then leave."
"No."
"Why?"
"I'm your bodyguard."
"I don't need a bodyguard."
"Tell Goro."
"I have."
"What did he say?"
Xheavend's expression darkened.
Lster grinned.
"Exactly."
Behind him—
Wten appeared.
Then Fyr.
Both stopped.
Both looked at the destroyed books.
Wten sighed.
"Again?"
"Leave."
Fyr pointed toward the cabinet.
"That one's expensive."
Xheavend grabbed another book.
All three disappeared.
Cowards.
She dropped back into her chair.
Her desk looked like history had vomited across it.
Texts from dozens of civilizations.
Fragments.
Translations.
Copies of copies of copies.
Histories of universes so old that entire species had forgotten why certain words existed.
She'd searched for End.
Nothing.
She'd searched for the Apocalypse.
Plenty.
Almost all useless.
She'd searched for Ascendants.
More.
She'd searched for herself.
Too much.
Then she'd searched for—
Beginning.
Secretly.
That name never entered any request she made to Goro's scholars.
Never appeared on lists she allowed Hrashtari to see.
She searched alone.
Nothing.
They don't remember us.
End's voice moved quietly through her.
Xheavend stared at the pages.
Someone has to.
They don't.
Why?
Silence.
Xheavend's fingers tightened.
Why?
Our history was lost.
How does history just disappear?
Nothing.
That made her angrier.
End always did that.
Answered enough to create ten more questions.
Then disappeared when Xheavend asked the important one.
Even information concerning the First Universe was fragmented.
Broken.
Contradictory.
Buried beneath civilizations that had risen and died afterward.
She'd found more reliable information concerning certain later universes.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Eventually records stretching toward the 1,990th.
But Beginning?
Nothing.
End?
Nothing useful.
Xheavend shoved herself away from the desk.
"Useless."
Her chair fell backward.
She left.
She passed a ghost in the hallway.
Xheavend stopped.
The ghost didn't.
An elderly creature walked directly through her.
Cold spread through Xheavend's chest.
And—
Beginning.
A child.
Not human.
Dtramaka.
Its body looked like a walking nervous system.
Exposed pathways of luminous synapses pulsed where flesh should have been.
Tiny hands reached toward another creature.
Touch.
Pain.
Love.
Memory.
An entire childhood communicated without words.
Xheavend saw rain falling over a violet field.
A mother touching her child's forehead and sharing the pain of giving birth.
A first friendship.
A broken limb.
A first hunt.
A mate.
Children.
War.
Loss.
Age.
Then—
End.
The Dtramaka lay alone beneath a shattered bridge.
Its synapses dimmed.
One.
By one.
By one.
Until—
nothing.
Xheavend gasped.
The hallway returned.
The ghost continued walking.
She stared after it.
Then ran.
Not away.
Back to her room.
Chair upright.
Ink.
Paper.
She wrote.
Name: Tza'ren.
Her hand moved faster.
Species.
Birthplace.
Parents.
The violet fields.
His first pain-sharing.
The person he loved.
His children.
The war.
The bridge.
Everything.
Hours passed.
Hrashtari entered once.
Twenty years old.
Gentle eyes.
Dark hair pinned neatly behind her head.
She took one look at Xheavend.
Then at the untouched dinner beside her.
She didn't speak.
She simply moved the plate closer.
Xheavend kept writing.
Another ghost appeared that night.
Nhalae.
Tall.
Elegant.
Translucent skin.
Glowing organs floated inside its body like lanterns suspended beneath water.
Its face was smooth pearl-white bone.
No mouth.
No eyes.
Yet Xheavend saw everything.
The Nhalae had spent centuries collecting forgotten memories from the dying.
Final words.
Faces.
Songs.
Children.
Regrets.
Beautiful things people were terrified would disappear with them.
The creature preserved all of it.
Then one day—
it died.
Nobody preserved it.
Xheavend did.
The next was Mournborn.
Pale ash.
Cracked stone.
Golden embers for eyes.
Its body crumbled whenever grief overwhelmed it—
then slowly rebuilt itself.
It had guided lost travelers home.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
It believed every living thing deserved a path home.
Xheavend stopped writing.
Her hand trembled.
Home.
The word sat there.
She stared at it.
Then continued.
By sunrise—
three new books rested beside her.
Not histories.
Lives.
That distinction mattered.
Eventually she built shelves.
Then more.
Then an entire room.
Goro gave her another when that one filled.
Xheavend wrote names.
Thousands of them.
Some belonged to kings.
Most didn't.
Farmers.
Soldiers.
Children.
Mothers.
Monsters.
Servants.
Creatures without languages anyone living still spoke.
Sometimes she wrote forty pages.
Sometimes four hundred.
Sometimes—
only a sentence.
One entry remained particularly small.
Name: Unknown.
Species: Unknown.
Beginning: Unknown.
End: Alone.
Xheavend stared at the final line.
Then added:
I saw you.
Xheavend closed the book.
"You're going to run out of rooms."
She didn't jump.
Mostly.
The pen in her hand became a dagger before she turned around.
Sra stood between two shelves.
Xheavend lowered the weapon.
"...You."
Sra raised one eyebrow.
"Charming."
"You sneak."
"I walked."
"I didn't hear you."
"That sounds like a personal failure."
Xheavend stared at her.
Sra stared back.
Then her gaze moved toward the shelves.
Thousands of lives surrounded them.
Names.
Histories.
Beginnings.
Ends.
Things nobody else remembered.
Something in Sra's expression changed.
Barely.
"You've been busy."
Xheavend glanced toward the journals.
"They were disappearing."
"Everything disappears eventually."
"Not if somebody remembers it."
Sra looked at her.
Longer this time.
Then—
she smiled.
Small.
Sad.
"That's a dangerous belief to have in this universe."
Xheavend frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Sra walked toward one shelf.
Her fingers brushed across several spines without pulling any free.
"You've been searching for Ascendants."
Xheavend went still.
Sra didn't look at her.
"Badly."
"I have not."
"You threw three historical records through a cabinet yesterday."
Xheavend's eyes narrowed.
"Lster told you."
"No."
"Wten?"
"No."
"Fyr?"
"No."
"Then how—"
"You are not subtle."
"I am extremely subtle."
Sra finally looked at her.
"No."
Xheavend disliked her.
Possibly.
Sra pulled one journal free.
Opened it.
Read several lines.
Closed it again.
"You record their entire lives."
"When I can."
"Why?"
Xheavend frowned.
"Because they had one."
Sra stopped.
The answer seemed to catch her somewhere unexpected.
Xheavend didn't understand why.
Sra returned the journal carefully.
Then said—
"The Jinn used to do something similar."
Xheavend blinked.
"The Jinn?"
"Some of them."
Sra leaned against the shelf.
"Before their civilizations became too large to remember why certain traditions existed."
Xheavend's curiosity sharpened immediately.
"You've been to their worlds?"
Sra laughed.
Quietly.
"Oh, little catastrophe."
Xheavend hated when ancient beings called her things like that.
"I did considerably more than visit."
Silence.
Something—
shifted.
Not End.
Xheavend froze.
Beginning.
It moved through her strangely whenever something ancient stood nearby.
Not a vision.
Not exactly.
More like—
recognition without memory.
She looked at Sra.
Really looked.
And suddenly—
she felt it.
A beginning.
Impossible in scale.
Not one life.
Thousands.
Millions.
Billions.
Fire without heat.
Deserts beneath impossible stars.
Palaces folded between dimensions.
Creatures born from smoke.
Others from storms.
Others from oceans that existed between worlds.
Names.
Species.
Bloodlines.
Civilizations.
All of them—
branching outward from—
her.
Xheavend stopped breathing.
Sra's expression changed.
Immediately.
"What did you just do?"
Xheavend stepped backward.
"I—"
Beginning surged.
Jinn.
Not one species.
A lineage of species.
An entire divine family tree spreading across dimensions.
And at its root—
Sra.
Xheavend stared at her.
"You made them."
Silence.
Sra did not move.
Xheavend's heart hammered.
"You—"
Her voice dropped.
"You're their Ascendant."
Sra's eyes sharpened.
Not frightened.
Dangerous.
Xheavend suddenly remembered exactly why this woman trained Q.
"Sra?"
"Who told you that?"
"Nobody."
"Don't lie."
"I'm not."
"Who."
"Nobody!"
Sra crossed the space between them.
Xheavend's dagger appeared.
Sra stopped.
Not because she feared it.
Because Xheavend had raised it.
A long silence passed.
Then Sra looked toward the ceiling.
The walls.
The shelves.
Every surface that might possess an eye they couldn't see.
When she spoke again—
her voice was considerably quieter.
"Do not tell Q."
Xheavend blinked.
"What?"
"Q."
"I know who Q is."
"Then why—"
"Because he doesn't know."
That—
Xheavend hadn't expected.
"Q doesn't know what you are?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because Q has enough secrets inside him already."
Fair.
"And because..."
Sra looked toward the wall again.
"...some knowledge is safer when Yzer doesn't know who possesses it."
Xheavend's stomach tightened.
"You know he's watching me."
Sra gave her a look.
"Everyone with sense knows he's watching you."
"That's comforting."
"It wasn't intended to be."
That sounded annoyingly like Q.
Xheavend lowered the dagger.
Slowly.
"So you really are..."
"The Ascendant of the Jinn."
The words were quiet.
Almost nothing.
Yet Xheavend felt them.
Like a lock opening.
Sra looked toward the shelves.
"My creations called me many things."
"Called?"
Sra's mouth tightened.
Xheavend noticed.
Past tense.
"Where are they?"
"Everywhere."
"Then why did you say called?"
Sra didn't answer.
Xheavend waited.
She was good at that.
Sometimes.
Sra eventually sighed.
"Because they don't remember me."
Xheavend's expression changed.
"What?"
"My creations have long forgotten me."
The library suddenly felt different.
Thousands of names surrounded them.
People who had disappeared.
Lives nobody remembered.
And standing among them—
a goddess forgotten by her own creation.
Xheavend looked at Sra.
"All of them?"
"Enough."
"How?"
"Time."
Sra's expression hardened.
"War."
A pause.
"Yzer."
There.
That name.
Xheavend's fingers curled.
"How long have you been here?"
Sra smiled without humor.
"Long enough that answering that question would irritate both of us."
"That's not an answer."
"It is the answer you're receiving."
Xheavend folded her arms.
Sra ignored her.
"Long ago, I made a deal."
Xheavend immediately disliked where this was going.
"With Goro?"
"No."
"Another Fragment?"
Sra looked at her.
Xheavend's stomach dropped.
"...Yzer."
Sra's jaw tightened.
"The damned Fragment himself."
The words carried centuries of hatred.
Maybe longer.
Xheavend stepped closer.
"You made a deal with him?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"To protect the Jinn."
"What did he want?"
Sra laughed.
There was nothing pleasant in it.
"What Yzer always wants."
Xheavend knew.
Ownership.
Control.
Something beautiful placed inside a cage simply because he could close the door.
"What did you give him?"
Sra looked around them.
At the Labyrinth beyond the walls.
At a prison so enormous entire civilizations existed inside it.
"Me."
Xheavend stopped.
Sra continued before she could speak.
"I entered the Labyrinth."
"You chose to?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because the alternative was allowing him access to them."
"The Jinn."
"My children."
Something about the way she said it—
children—
made Xheavend's chest hurt.
"Did it work?"
Sra didn't answer immediately.
"Mostly."
That was not a comforting word.
"Mostly?"
"Yzer honors agreements in the manner of creatures who enjoy discovering how much suffering can fit between the words."
Xheavend understood that too well.
Sra looked toward her.
"I protected what I could."
"And they forgot you."
"Yes."
"That's horrible."
Sra's face went very still.
Xheavend wondered whether she'd said something wrong.
Then Sra answered—
"They survived."
Two words.
Nothing else.
Xheavend understood.
Sra had decided survival mattered more than being remembered.
Even if the price was herself.
Xheavend looked around her library.
Suddenly—
she understood why Sra had been staring at the shelves.
"You can put yourself in here."
Sra blinked.
"What?"
"I'll write you."
A strange expression crossed Sra's face.
"I am not dead."
"Neither is history."
That earned silence.
Xheavend pointed toward an empty journal.
"Where were you born?"
Sra stared at her.
"Absolutely not."
"Your parents?"
"No."
"Favorite food?"
"No."
"Childhood?"
"Xheavend."
"Did you have siblings?"
"Stop."
"First Jinn you created?"
Sra's expression cracked.
Barely.
Xheavend smiled.
Then—
another question occurred to her.
The smile disappeared.
"Sra."
"Hm?"
"What happened to the others?"
Sra went still.
"The other what?"
"Ascendants."
Silence.
Xheavend stepped closer.
"The ones from the Third Universe."
Nothing.
"You exist."
She pointed at Sra.
"Goro exists."
Her hand lowered.
"There had to be others."
Sra's face had become unreadable.
Xheavend continued.
"I keep finding pieces."
"Pieces of what?"
"Stories."
"Stories lie."
"Not all of them."
"Enough do."
"Then tell me which ones don't."
Sra stared at her.
Xheavend stared back.
Neither moved.
Finally—
Sra sighed.
"Most of them are gone."
Xheavend's stomach dropped.
"Dead?"
"No."
That was somehow worse.
"Then where?"
"Some were sealed."
Xheavend said nothing.
"Some imprisoned."
Sra's voice became colder.
"Some tortured until they became considerably less recognizable than the gods they once were."
Xheavend swallowed.
"And some?"
"Hiding."
"From Yzer."
"Who else?"
The library seemed colder.
Xheavend looked toward the walls.
Every carved surface suddenly felt like an eye.
Every shadow—
listening.
"Why doesn't anyone know?"
"Because gods can be erased from history just as easily as mortals."
Sra looked around the library.
"Sometimes more easily."
Xheavend frowned.
"How?"
"Destroy their temples."
One finger.
"Kill their priests."
Another.
"Burn their records."
Another.
"Change the names of their worlds."
Another.
"Teach their descendants a different history."
Her hand lowered.
"Wait."
Xheavend's stomach twisted.
"Eventually..."
Sra looked directly at her.
"...a god becomes a story."
A pause.
"A story becomes a myth."
Another.
"A myth becomes a mistake."
Silence.
"And then nobody remembers there was anything to forget."
Xheavend looked toward her shelves.
Thousands of lives.
Names.
Beginnings.
Ends.
I saw you.
Her jaw tightened.
"That's why I can't find anything."
Sra didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
Then—
Sra's eyes narrowed.
Not at the books.
At Xheavend.
"What?"
Sra stepped closer.
Xheavend immediately disliked that look.
"What?"
"Who are you?"
Her blood went cold.
"Xheavend."
"Not your name."
Xheavend didn't move.
Sra's eyes traveled across her face.
Her body.
Not inspecting.
Recognizing.
"Who did you come from?"
Xheavend's heart struck hard against her ribs.
"What do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean."
No.
She didn't.
Maybe.
Her parents?
Zcain.
Rnarah.
Sin.
Love.
Did Sra know them?
Xheavend swallowed.
"Why?"
Sra didn't answer.
Her eyes moved—
past Xheavend.
Toward the wall.
Xheavend understood.
Yzer.
Sra's expression changed immediately.
Casual.
Almost bored.
Too deliberate.
"Never mind."
Xheavend's eyes narrowed.
"You know."
Sra said nothing.
"You know what I am."
Still nothing.
Xheavend stepped closer.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Ancient-person bullshit."
Sra blinked.
"Ancient-person—"
"Goro does it too."
"I am nothing like Goro."
"You both answer questions with other questions."
"That is because your questions are irritating."
"You know what I am."
Sra's mouth tightened.
Then—
very softly—
"Yes."
Xheavend's breath stopped.
End stirred.
Sra looked toward the wall.
Then the ceiling.
Then back at Xheavend.
"But he doesn't."
Yzer.
Xheavend understood immediately.
Sra raised one finger to her lips.
"So I won't say it."
Xheavend's heart hammered.
"Can you tell me who my parents are?"
"No."
"Do you know them?"
Sra hesitated.
That was enough.
Xheavend's eyes widened.
"You do."
"I didn't say that."
"You hesitated."
"I regret teaching you observation."
"You haven't taught me anything."
"I regret Q teaching you observation."
"Q isn't here."
"Tragically."
Xheavend almost smiled.
Then—
Beginning moved.
She froze.
No.
Not Sra.
Something else.
Far away.
Four.
Xheavend's breath caught.
Sra noticed immediately.
"What?"
Xheavend couldn't answer.
The library disappeared without disappearing.
She could still see it.
Shelves.
Books.
Sra.
But beneath reality—
something enormous shifted.
Not End.
Beginning.
Four presences.
Ancient.
Terrible.
Beautiful.
Not approaching.
Not awakening.
Simply—
there.
As though Xheavend had finally learned how to hear something that had been speaking since before civilizations possessed words.
The first presence felt like silence after every weapon had been lowered.
Not emptiness.
Peace.
A world exhaling.
The second—
overflowed.
Fields heavy with grain.
Oceans crowded with life.
Tables that never emptied.
Hands with enough to give.
Abundance.
The third struck her like a heartbeat.
Blood.
Breath.
Heat.
Movement.
Bodies refusing death because existence itself still demanded another step.
Vitality.
And the fourth—
Xheavend nearly fell.
Sra caught her elbow.
Life.
Not living things.
Life.
Roots splitting stone.
Cells dividing.
Children drawing breath.
Stars birthing elements that would someday become blood.
Eggs cracking.
Seeds opening.
Worlds crawling out of oceans.
Existence multiplying because existence could.
Xheavend gasped.
Four.
Four Beginnings.
Her vision blurred.
Inside her—
End became completely still.
Not frightened.
Xheavend knew End frightened.
This wasn't that.
Recognition.
Old.
So old it hurt.
No.
Xheavend swallowed.
What?
End didn't answer.
The four presences pulsed again.
Peace.
Abundance.
Vitality.
Life.
Xheavend gripped the shelf.
End?
Silence.
End.
Finally—
I know them.
Xheavend's heart stopped.
Who?
End withdrew.
No.
No, absolutely not.
Who are they?
Not here.
Xheavend's anger flared.
You always do this!
Not. Here.
Something in End's voice stopped her.
Warning.
Not for Xheavend.
For them.
For the four presences.
Or—
for whoever might hear their names.
Xheavend looked at Sra.
Sra was watching her carefully.
"You felt something."
Not a question.
Xheavend hesitated.
Beginning remained secret.
Even from Sra.
Especially from Sra.
"I got dizzy."
Sra stared at her.
Xheavend stared back.
"You're a terrible liar."
"So I've been told."
Sra's gaze sharpened.
For several seconds—
Xheavend wondered whether the Ascendant of the Jinn would push.
She didn't.
Interesting.
Instead Sra released her arm.
"Keep whatever that was to yourself."
Xheavend blinked.
"You aren't going to ask?"
"I just told you to keep my existence as the Ascendant of the Jinn from Q."
Fair.
Sra stepped backward.
"I would be an extraordinary hypocrite."
"Are you?"
"Frequently."
Xheavend smiled despite herself.
Then remembered something.
"Your family."
Sra stopped.
"You said the Jinn are your creations."
"Yes."
"But who made you?"
Sra turned slowly.
Xheavend immediately realized—
that question hurt differently.
"My parents were Syion and Ikbaki."
Xheavend waited.
Sra sighed.
"Syion was the Ascendant of the Eternal Gates."
A pause.
"Ikbaki, the Ascendant of Dimensional Balance."
Xheavend's eyes widened.
Both names felt—
old.
Not Beginning.
History.
"What happened to them?"
"I don't know."
The answer was immediate.
Xheavend's expression changed.
Sra continued before she could ask.
"I never met either of them."
"...Neither?"
"No."
There was no self-pity in it.
That somehow made it sadder.
"And your grandparents?"
Sra's mouth twisted.
"You truly are incapable of leaving questions alone."
"No."
"I've noticed."
She looked toward the shelves.
"Cree."
Xheavend froze.
"The Ascendant of Rebirth?"
"Yes."
"My grandparent."
Xheavend's eyes widened.
The mirror.
Male.
Female.
Cree.
Suddenly that record felt considerably less distant.
"And Hydeius."
"Souls."
"Correct."
Sra continued.
"Nysaeon. Dimensions."
Another name.
"And Orhaiah."
Xheavend knew that one.
"Law."
"Yes."
Xheavend stared at her.
That was—
an absurd bloodline.
Eternal Gates.
Dimensional Balance.
Rebirth.
Souls.
Dimensions.
Law.
And somehow—
Jinn.
"You never met them either?"
"No."
"Any of them?"
Sra's expression became distant.
"No."
The word barely existed.
Xheavend looked around her library.
A terrible thought occurred.
"Do you know what happened to them?"
Sra didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
Xheavend swallowed.
"I could look."
Sra glanced toward her.
"For records."
A pause.
"Maybe they're somewhere."
Sra smiled.
It wasn't happy.
"Perhaps."
Xheavend knew what adults sounded like when they didn't believe something but didn't want to destroy a child's hope.
She hated it.
So—
she made a decision.
Xheavend grabbed the empty journal.
Sra frowned.
"What are you doing?"
"Writing."
"No."
"Yes."
"Xheavend."
"Name?"
"You know my name."
Xheavend dipped the pen.
"Sra."
Scratch.
"Species?"
Sra stared at her.
Xheavend looked up.
"Ascendant?"
Silence.
Then—
Sra laughed.
Quiet.
Unexpected.
Real.
"You're impossible."
"I've been told."
"Repeatedly, I imagine."
"Constantly."
Xheavend wrote:
Sra.
Then beneath it—
Ascendant of the Jinn.
Sra's laughter disappeared.
She stared at the words.
Xheavend continued.
Daughter of Syion, Ascendant of the Eternal Gates.
Daughter of Ikbaki, Ascendant of Dimensional Balance.
Then—
Granddaughter of Cree, Ascendant of Rebirth.
Hydeius, Ascendant of Souls.
Nysaeon, Ascendant of Dimensions.
Orhaiah, Ascendant of Law.
Xheavend stopped.
Looked up.
Sra hadn't moved.
"Now somebody remembers."
Silence.
Something changed in Sra's face.
Small.
Painful.
Ancient.
Then she reached forward—
and closed the journal.
Gently.
"Hide that one."
Xheavend's smile disappeared.
"Why?"
Sra looked toward the walls.
"Because some lives are forgotten by accident."
A pause.
"And some..."
Her eyes hardened.
"...someone worked very hard to erase."
Then she walked away.
Xheavend watched her disappear between the shelves.
Only after Sra was gone did she open the journal again.
Four presences still burned faintly at the edge of her awareness.
Peace.
Abundance.
Vitality.
Life.
Xheavend lowered her pen.
Then—
very carefully—
on a page Sra had not seen—
she wrote:
Four.
Nothing else.
No names.
No explanation.
Because End knew them.
And End—
didn't want Yzer hearing their names.
Yzer found her three days later.
Not physically.
He didn't need to.
Sometimes his voice simply appeared.
Sometimes through mirrors.
Sometimes through walls.
Sometimes directly behind someone who couldn't see him.
Today—
a violet eye opened inside the teacup beside her.
Xheavend stared at it.
The eye blinked.
"Still searching?"
Her stomach tightened.
She said nothing.
"How industrious."
"Go away."
"Have you found what you're looking for?"
Xheavend closed her book.
"No."
A soft laugh.
"Perhaps that's because there is nothing to find."
Something moved inside her.
End.
Awake.
Yzer's eye widened slightly.
"Oh."
His voice softened.
"Did that upset you?"
Xheavend stood.
"Fuck off."
"Such language."
The teacup cracked.
"Your mother would be disappointed."
It shattered.
Tea exploded across the table.
Xheavend's breathing changed.
Four.
In.
Hold.
Four—
"Do not talk about her."
Yzer laughed.
End surged.
Don't.
Xheavend's hands shook.
He knows.
He wants you angry.
I know.
"Do you?"
Yzer whispered from somewhere behind her.
Xheavend spun.
Nothing.
"You've become remarkably predictable."
"Shut up."
"Anger."
The wall beside her opened an eye.
"Violence."
Another.
"Questions."
Another.
"Loneliness."
"SHUT UP!"
Power exploded.
The table disintegrated.
Books flew.
Stone cracked.
Violet fire extinguished.
Silence.
Xheavend stood in the center of the room.
Breathing hard.
Hands trembling.
Yzer laughed softly.
"There's my little—"
Enough.
End's voice struck so violently that every eye snapped shut.
Silence returned.
Real silence.
Xheavend remained standing.
Her eyes burned.
She refused to cry.
She refused.
She—
The door opened.
Lster stepped inside.
Looked around.
"...Wow."
Xheavend turned slowly.
He immediately reconsidered his life choices.
"Bad time?"
"Leave."
"Yep."
He closed the door.
Then opened it again.
"Hrashtari said dinner."
"Lster."
"Leaving."
The door closed.
Xheavend threw a book at it anyway.
Dinner involved six people.
Goro.
Xheavend.
Hrashtari.
Lster.
Wten.
Fyr.
Somehow—
it became an argument.
Xheavend wasn't entirely certain how.
One moment, everyone had been eating.
The next—
"That's mine."
Lster reached for the bread.
Xheavend moved it.
His hand stopped.
"...Seriously?"
"Yes."
"There's an entire loaf."
"Then take another piece."
"That's the largest one."
"I know."
Wten laughed.
Fyr reached for it instead.
Xheavend slapped his hand.
"OW."
Hrashtari didn't look up.
"You were warned."
"She didn't warn me!"
"Her face did."
Goro continued eating as though nothing had happened.
Lster looked at him.
"Are you going to do something?"
"No."
"Why?"
Goro took another bite.
"She didn't slap me."
Xheavend lost it.
She laughed.
Actually laughed.
Wten followed.
Then Lster.
Even Fyr eventually laughed while rubbing his wounded hand.
For a little while—
Yzer disappeared.
Not literally.
Xheavend knew better than that.
But from her thoughts.