Fear was a fascinating thing.
Lucien had observed it often enough in others. Nobles feared losing power. Kings feared losing their kingdoms. Mortals feared death because they had convinced themselves it was an ending rather than a transition.
He had never truly understood it.
That was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain.
The hand descending through the fractured heavens was unlike anything he had encountered since his rebirth. Even the Architect's crimson eye had felt comprehensible by comparison. It had possessed intent. Purpose.
This...
This felt wrong.
The black-scaled hand wrapped around the broken crown moved with impossible slowness, as though reality itself struggled to bear its weight. Every inch of its descent caused the sky to fracture further, revealing glimpses of a place beyond.
There were no stars there.
No light.
Only an endless darkness filled with shapes too large to comprehend.
Lucien stared upward in silence.
Then, quietly, "I've decided I dislike today."
"An entirely reasonable position," Orion agreed.
The older Lucien, however, appeared significantly less calm than everyone else.
That, more than anything, concerned him.
The man had arrived carrying a sword capable of consuming constellations and had treated an ancient dragon like an old acquaintance. Up until now, he had regarded every catastrophe with mild amusement.
Now, his expression had become grim.
"That crown should not exist."
Lucien looked toward him.
"You've said similar things approximately seventeen times since we met."
"Because reality keeps making poor decisions."
"What is it?"
The older Lucien was silent for several moments.
Then—
"The Crown of the End."
Naturally.
Lucien had expected nothing less dramatic.
"I assume that's bad."
"It depends."
"On?"
"How attached you are to existence."
Fair.
The black-scaled hand continued descending.
The broken crown it held was unlike anything Lucien had ever seen. It appeared to have been forged from black crystal and dying starlight, with nine shattered points rising from its surface.
Nine.
The number immediately caught his attention.
"Master."
The Last Witness did not answer.
Lucien turned inward.
The old man stood before the black door, staring at the crown with an expression of absolute horror.
"Master."
"No."
"What?"
"No."
"That isn't an answer."
"It is all I currently possess."
Interesting.
Lucien couldn't recall ever seeing the Last Witness lose his composure before.
"Why are you afraid?"
The old man's silence lasted several heartbeats.
"Because I remember who wore it."
The black door shuddered.
Something behind it laughed.
"You should tell him."
"No."
"You always did hate difficult conversations."
The voice sounded amused.
Lucien was rapidly becoming tired of being excluded from discussions regarding his own existence.
"Would someone please explain?"
The Dragon King lowered his massive head.
His ancient eyes remained fixed upon the descending crown.
"Long ago, before your first death, there was a king."
Lucien immediately disliked where this was going.
"There always is."
"Indeed."
The Dragon King's voice grew quieter.
"He united the dragons. Ended the First War. Built the city around us."
Lucien glanced toward the ruins.
"And?"
"And he wore that crown."
Silence.
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
The Dragon King looked almost sympathetic.
"Yes."
Lucien pointed toward the older version of himself.
"Is this another situation where it belonged to me?"
"No."
Lucien relaxed slightly.
"It belonged to us."
He stopped relaxing.
"Oh."
The older Lucien sighed.
"That's one way of putting it."
"There's another way?"
The man considered the question.
"Not one you'd enjoy."
The crown pulsed.
Reality cracked.
And for one impossible moment, Lucien saw it.
A throne at the edge of creation.
A figure seated upon it.
Black fire.
Golden eyes.
A broken crown.
His face.
The vision vanished immediately.
Lucien pressed one hand against his forehead.
"I am beginning to suspect my life is considerably more complicated than necessary."
"That has always been true," Seraphina said softly.
Her gaze never left the sky.
Lucien looked toward her.
"You knew about the crown."
"Yes."
"And?"
"It killed you."
Interesting.
"How?"
"It didn't stop."
That...
Was not particularly informative.
"The crown was never meant to exist," Orion said quietly.
"It was created during the final days of the First War."
Lucien frowned.
"Created by whom?"
No one answered.
The silence was immediate.
Absolute.
He looked between them.
"Oh, that's concerning."
The older Lucien laughed without humor.
"You have no idea."
The black-scaled hand suddenly stopped descending.
Its fingers tightened around the broken crown.
Then, slowly...
It pointed directly at Lucien.
The world went silent.
Every dragon froze.
The bells throughout the city stopped ringing.
And a voice older than time itself echoed across reality.
"FOUND YOU."
The words were not spoken.
They were remembered.
Lucien felt them settle into his bones like an old wound reopening.
The Dragon King roared.
Golden fire erupted across the heavens.
The other dragons joined him immediately, their combined voices shaking the mountains.
It made no difference.
The hand remained unmoving.
"NINE LIVES."
The voice sounded curious.
"INTERESTING."
The older Lucien stepped forward, placing himself between Lucien and the sky.
"You took your time."
Silence.
Then—
"YOU ARE NOT THE ONE I SEEK."
"I know."
"THEN MOVE."
"No."
The hand paused.
Lucien felt reality hesitate.
As though existence itself had not expected someone to refuse.
"Interesting," Orion murmured.
"What?"
"It hasn't heard that word in a very long time."
The older Lucien rested the black sword against his shoulder.
"You'll have to forgive me."
The smile he wore was familiar.
Dangerously familiar.
"We've always been somewhat difficult to deal with."
The hand opened.
Darkness poured from its palm.
Not shadow.
Not magic.
Absence.
Entire sections of the sky simply ceased to exist.
The black sword immediately began humming.
"Oh, good."
Lucien looked toward his older self.
"Good?"
"I was wondering when things would become complicated."
Lucien stared at him.
"This is your definition of complicated?"
"No."
The older Lucien smiled.
"This is Tuesday."
Before Lucien could respond, the man disappeared.
Not moved.
Disappeared.
One moment he stood beside them.
The next—
He was standing on the descending hand.
The black sword fell.
Reality screamed.
The sound wasn't metaphorical.
Lucien heard it.
Felt it.
The universe itself recoiled as the blade struck black scales older than creation.
The hand trembled.
For the first time since its arrival...
It moved backward.
The older Lucien looked down at them and waved.
"I'll be back in a moment."
Then he kicked the hand through reality.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
The fracture in the heavens sealed itself.
The crown vanished.
And somewhere far beyond the stars, something enormous crashed into something even larger.
Lucien blinked.
"...What?"
Aiden slowly sat down again.
"I've stopped trying to understand."
"An excellent decision," Orion said.
The Last Witness remained silent.
Lucien noticed.
"Master."
No response.
"Master."
The old man finally looked at him.
"You saw the crown."
"Yes."
"And?"
Lucien hesitated.
"I think..."
The memory felt slippery.
Distant.
Yet the certainty remained.
"I think I hated it."
The Last Witness closed his eyes.
"Of course you did."
"Why?"
"Because, Lucien..."
The old man's voice had become very quiet.
"It was the only thing you ever made for yourself."
The black door shook violently.
A fifth chain cracked.
And from beyond it, his own voice whispered with unmistakable satisfaction.
"He's remembering."
Far above the ruined city, thunder rolled across an empty sky.
The older Lucien had not returned.
And for reasons he couldn't explain...
Lucien was suddenly very certain that somewhere beyond reality, a war had just resumed.