An hour later, they found themselves in a huge abandoned parking lot on a mountain outside the city.

  Yemos had suggested doing the fireworks here. “It’s outside city police jurisdiction,” he’d explained as they drove up.

  “You F’ing nerd,” Mannus had marveled. “I thought we drove an hour for the scenery!”

  Admittedly, the scenery was nice, if you looked beyond the crumbled asphalt to the horizon. There, you’d find snowy crags and winding valleys, speckled orange with the glow of cars and homes, and the far off white spires of Atlean University’s North Campus. It was odd to think that this would be gone soon—this whole elaborate life of electricity, plumbing, heating, air conditioning, cars, and orange lights speckling the horizon.

  It lent some poignance to the blossoming of the flower lights in the night sky, as they set their fireworks off. Soon, the only flowers would be those budding silently from the soil. Proto watched an era bloom and boom and fizzle away.

  “Hells above, these things are big,” mused Yemos.

  True. If there was some difference between these fireworks and the ones cities set off, it wasn’t apparent to Proto.

  “Which one next?” called Mannus from beside the unlit rockets. They’d set off about two-thirds of their supply.

  He answered his own question a moment later, lifting one of the cylinders: “The Fiery Green Daemon? Sounds pretty chill.” The thing was three feet tall.

  “Is that a firework or an ICBM?” asked Yemos.

  “I don’t know what that means,” observed Ausrine. “Should I be worried?”

  “I know what that means, and I support this choice,” replied Proto.

  “Well, proceed then,” directed Ausrine. “But if we get caught, I’m playing innocent girlfriend! I disapproved of all this and have a bright future!”

  “Why don’t we bring some fireworks when we visit that hollow tree with the axe?” Mannus was fiddling with his lighter, trying to spark a flame. “Something to do.”

  “I don’t think setting off explosives at a flammable historic site is a good idea,” said Yemos.

  “Especially when it’s a hollow tree and we’re inside it,” added Proto. “Might get a bit hot.”

  “It’s okay, I once had a fever of 110° and I survived,” recalled Ausrine.

  Yemos blinked. “Wait, what? That’s crazy. So did I. When was this?”

  “Long, long time ago,” she replied. “I still remember the joke the doctor made to my mom: ‘Are you sure your daughter isn’t a cat? Because she used up seven or eight lives last night!’”

  “And . . . my mom slapped him,” said Ausrine. “But then she hugged him for saving me. And he was all like, ‘Oh, don’t thank me. I just provide medicine, not miracles. Thank someone up there.’ And then he rubbed his cheek.”

  Sometimes, you can sense a statement is significant, even if it’s not clear why. Proto’s months as a dream visitor had attuned him to that sixth sense. It reminded him of when a tone’s pitch was rising and, abruptly, everything started vibrating and resonating.

  Something Ausrine had just said had resonated with him. But he hadn’t the foggiest idea why. He struggled to discern what he was sensing, but mental mists obscured his inward sight.

  And then it was past, as Mannus finally succeeded in lighting his lighter and igniting the fuse. He dashed away from the firework.

  “That’s it!” Ausrine was saying to Yemos. The conversation had moved on. “I’m going to bring enough food for two weeks, and—”

  A gust tipped the firework just as the spark finished its journey along the fuse. No one else was watching as the rocket tilted toward them.

  “Look out!” yelled Proto, his voice rasping hoarsely. He was far away from the others, and there was simply no time. Sparks were spraying from the firework’s tail end, as it leaned toward the four onlookers.

  Somehow, both Yemos and Mannus looked not at him but at the firework. Somehow, both moved instantly.

  The Fiery Green Daemon shot straight at Ausrine.

  She’d just turned to look. She was starting to react—but she was nowhere near as swift as that blaze screaming toward her.

  It struck Yemos—no, glanced off Yemos. He’d dove into its path, ending up a couple feet beneath it, and desperately whipped an arm upward. Somehow, his forearm bashed it mid-flight, skewing its trajectory upward.

  The rocket was spraying flecks of flame, and his impact jarred loose a whole shower of them, like a shaken tree branch covered in dew. The red specks rained upon his face and arms.

  And on the firework shot toward Ausrine—not at her breast now, but her head.

  But Mannus now was crashing into her with open arms, his football-player bulk bashing her side and continuing onward, hardly slowed by her added weight. He grit his teeth as fire flecks rained upon him, and he struck the ground, turning so that Ausrine wouldn’t land beneath him.

  The rocket missed them both. Both had some orange embers on them, but no more than might spray from a tall campfire knocked over.

  The same could not be said of Yemos.

  Mannus had released Ausrine a moment after striking the earth, wincing as he inhaled, glancing at her.

  Even now, eyes wide, she was releasing him, briefly meeting his gaze as she sat up—then quickly looking away and nodding in gratitude, mouthing something that was probably thank you.

  But all that was forgotten as they turned to Yemos and simultaneously gasped.

  The elder brother lay blackened and unmoving on the dirt. A hundred orangish specks were smoldering on him. Smoke trails rose from some leaves and twigs around him—or, perhaps, from him.

  A void had formed at Proto’s core, and he felt his insides falling into it. What have I done . . . ?

  “Yemos . . . ” Ausrine was whispering, her arm held out toward him. She shuffled toward him like the victim of a bombing, reaching through haze for something now gone.

  Many things were unclear and undecided about the future. But the one thing that’d seemed certain was that Yemos would survive the worldwide fiery catastrophe wrought by the Elements, ensconced safely with Mannus and Ausrine in the hollow tree—the World Rood.

  Proto already had steered the world onto a new Fate Road once. Had he just done so again?

  He tried to recall what he might’ve said or done to cause this. Was it his suggestion that they set off fireworks? Or was it something he’d done earlier? Had something long ago and seemingly unrelated set this in motion, like the butterfly’s flutter that speeds the winds just enough to form a faraway typhoon?

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Was it the fact that I met Red? He’d never have worked up the courage to have that first chat, if not for how his personality had developed at Somnus’ Palace. And if not for that, he’d never have met Ausrine at the whisky tasting. This, therefore, wouldn’t have happened.

  But even as that horrid supposition rose within Proto, like miasma over a swamp, Yemos murmured something. Only the last few words were discernible: “Just like the dreams.”

  He’s alive. Proto exhaled slowly.

  Yemos started to rise, then winced and propped himself up on one hand. With the other arm, he brushed himself off, squinting down at the dwindling embers on his shirt—some dying down, some falling to the floor.

  “Yemos!” cried Ausrine, her faltering voice returning now. She darted forward so swiftly that a tear fell from each cheek, wettening the ground.

  At the same time, she fell upon Yemos and threw her arms about him, wettening his shoulder with her tears.

  The dark-haired brother blinked a couple times, then folded his arms around her. “Hey there,” he managed.

  “Yemos . . . ” she whispered again. “Here, lie down. We’ll get you help!”

  “You know, I think I’m okay.” Yemos coughed. “I mean, I think my arms are one big first-degree burn. Except the part that hit the firework, which is a second-degree burn. But I think it looks worse than it is.”

  This was probably true. He looked like Elmer Fudd after Bugs Bunny plugged his shotgun with his fingers—soot-faced and shellshocked, but all in one piece.

  Mannus choked out a laugh, then stifled it, trying to pass it off as clearing his throat. “You, uh, okay there, Bro?”

  Yemos lifted his phone to look in the selfie camera. Then, he started chortling too.

  “Um. Is that a yes?” Mannus still was struggling not to laugh, but having less success now.

  “Well. I think my hair’s been burnt black,” Yemos mused, studying his sooty facade and blown back hair-do. “And please don’t take a photo of my face right now, or someday there’ll be a serious misunderstanding and I’ll lose my job. But, all in all, I’m feeling pretty alive.”

  “You look like Smithmaster Mannus after a long day at the forge,” noted Proto.

  Yemos chuckled, turning to his brother. “I always thought it’d be you who went out in a ball of flame, saving someone.”

  “Well, now you’re an honorary Mannus,” affirmed the blond brother. “The Mannus you were meant to be!”

  “Leading the life we said we’d lead!” Proto held his arm toward his charred friend. “A rare man.”

  “I’m feeling more well done, or at least seared,” corrected the dark-haired brother. “But I appreciate the thought.”

  “Minna konna mon da yo!” cried Ausrine, shaking her head at them.

  “I’m not sure what you just said.” Yemos licked a finger, swabbed his cheek, and studied his now coal-hued finger. “But might I remind you who called for this? The one who proposed this dangerous game?”

  Proto nodded grimly at him. “The Eve to our Adam!”

  “The Helen to our Paris!” agreed Yemos.

  “The Delilah to our Samson!”

  “The Cleopatra to our Marc Antony!”

  “The Yoko Ono to our band of brothers!”

  As they went back and forth, Mannus and Ausrine exchanged a glance and shook their heads.

  “You lost me at Paris, Frenchy,” said the blond brother.

  “You lost me at Eve, you misanthrope!” Ausrine flicked Yemos’ ear. “Also, it was Proto who suggested this, remember? Atashi-tachi no sei ni suru ne. Mai kai, mai kai!”

  “I don’t know what you just said,” replied Yemos, “but we’re still on the same page about Yoko, right?”

  “Yes,” she allowed.

  “Cool, we’re good.”

  The four friends set off a few more fireworks for good measure. But the lively thrill they’d felt with each burst earlier was gone now. They’d gotten enough life out of their systems already—almost too much, in fact—and this just felt like overkill.

  So, within ten minutes, they’d all piled back into the car and started their return trip down the mountain. The thousand little orangish glows of civilization, centered on the valley ahead of them, gradually grew to fill their prospect.

  Soon, Proto was exiting the car outside his house. “This was a good idea!” he called through the car’s open windows. “Fun times.”

  “Yes. Tubular, even!” agreed Ausrine with a giggle. “Let’s do it again. Without blowing up my boyfriend.” She patted Yemos’ sooty leg.

  At this, the dark-haired brother looked at her and blinked, but his lips curved up.

  Approaching his doorstep, Proto just had turned to wave to the parting car, ruminating on the evening’s events, when a memory overtook him:

  Red and Ausrine looked drastically different, but they were posed like twins—hands resting on their bellies, satisfied smiles on their faces.

  “I haven’t had this much fun since that cosplay convention,” Proto mused absently.

  “Right? I haven’t been to one in ages!” sighed Red.

  “Oh, you like them too?” Ausrine’s eyes glimmered eagerly. “Actually, I have a favor to ask you. It involves driving me to a cosplay convention. But I can get you a free ticket in exchange.”

  “Oh, Ausrine-chan, I would drive you without the ticket!” waved Red. “But I’ll take the ticket too.”

  And now another memory echoed from the first:

  “Enough of that gobbledygook!” commanded Mannus. “This is a sports bar, not a cosplay convention.”

  “Actually, that’s a good idea,” mused Ausrine. “Let’s do a whisky tasting, then a cosplay convention. Besides the one I’m already going to with Red.”

  “Is that the one downtown on the 14th?” asked Mannus.

  Everyone blinked at him.

  “‘The one downtown on the 14th’?” asked Yemos. “Who are you, and where’s my brother?”

  Mannus lifted a ticket from his pocket. “I’ll be at the hockey game across the street. I’ve been seeing ads for it every time I pass. That spiky blue-haired guy with an axe.”

  He pocketed the ticket, turning to Ausrine. “Speaking of which, you need a ride? I’m driving there anyway.”

  “Thanks, but Red’s got me covered!” she answered.

  “Ah, cool. . . . Come on!” Mannus slapped the table again.

  Proto stood and stared, lost in an inward puzzle. He tried to put the pieces together. But instead, another recollection filled the gap—a memory of an older Yemos, with lighter hair and darker gaze, peering off toward unseen prospects:

  Yemos smiled sadly. “Sometimes, life calls for a tragedy. And trying to avoid it will just make it worse.”

  “I—” Proto-Mannus started.

  “Don’t argue. I need you to promise me something important. It’s about Ausrine.” Yemos’ dark gaze had taken on a narrowed zeal. “I know you feel the same about her now as a decade ago. Even if you’re too noble-hearted to say anything.”

  “I need you to promise me, Mannus, that you’ll take care of Ausrine like your own family. Whether as a sister or . . . ” Yemos shook his head. “Just promise me, okay?”

  The memory ceased here, drowned out by the amplifying tones of a woman’s voice, chanting through a fiery haze:

  “The World Rood grows on the horizon. It beckons them. When the flames fall, it will beckon them, and they will come.”

  “The flames will fall, and he will not fall. Not until he walks through the flames to recover their source. And in his dying will he turn undying.”

  “His name is Yemos!”

  And now Proto understood. Not everything, but enough.

  Yemos would survive the Elements’ falling fires within the hollow tree. But something was going to happen afterward. Something strange and hard to understand—“in his dying will he turn undying”—but whatever it was, Yemos wouldn’t end up with Ausrine, and he wouldn’t be there at her side in the postapocalyptic world. That would fall to Mannus.

  At least, it would have. Now, that wasn’t going to happen anymore. Exactly what had changed was unclear.

  What was clear was that Mannus had been meant to give Ausrine a ride to a cosplay convention. Now, instead, Red would be doing so. This was because Proto inadvertently had referenced a cosplay convention from Fyrir’s future dream.

  Proto’s innocuous remark had sent the world veering onto a new Fate Road—one leading to a lifeless void in a few hundred years, brought about by an “orkish horde.”

  The hows and whys of this were beyond Proto. He’d leave it to Flua-Sahng to trace out the causation step-by-step. What mattered was, he had to undo it and get back onto the right Fate Road—or at least, one that didn’t dead end in a few centuries. Literally.

  At this point, Proto’s feverish excitement was joined by a sickening uncertainty. He recalled the end of his visit to Yemos’ dream: “I need you to promise me, Mannus, that you’ll take care of Ausrine like your own family. Whether as a sister or . . . ” Yemos shook his head.

  Those hints that his friend’s lover would end up with his friend’s twin brother already had been unsettling. But now, he was supposed to actively seek that outcome?

  . . . Whatever. Proto shook away the brooding. He was making this too complicated. To fix the future, all he had to do was set up a car ride, or maybe get Red to skip a cosplay convention. Nothing wrong with that. And if the Fates or Lady Luck responded by messing with people’s love lives, that was on them.

  At least, that’s where Proto ended up as he reclined sleepily on his couch, with Dream of the Shore Bordering Another World wafting from his speakers.

  It spoke to him, that song—something about its transcendent acceptance of the world in all its rightness and wrongness. That feeling wasn’t resignation or approval. More like the wistfulness of watching Winter felling Nature, knowing it would bring both life and beauty.

  These thoughts weren’t quite making sense anymore. But that didn’t bother Proto, for he wasn’t in the world of sense anymore either. No, with each moment, he was hurtling toward a place beyond fathoming, yet intimately close and dearly familiar.