Proto opened his mouth to tell Mercune the truth of everything.

  But the words caught on his lips, as Proto caught a glimpse of her face, not quite fully turned from him yet. He saw her sidelong look—excited, a little flushed, lips curving up, pressed tight with her efforts to keep a straight face.

  And as his words began to slip forth, he suddenly felt like a gardener on the verge of clipping a solitary wildflower. A memory flashed through his mind:

  Smiling, Mercune began speaking in a foreign language. She happily plucked out one of the flowers and stuck it in his shirt pocket. Then, speaking a sadder-sounding phrase, she tossed one of the flowers aside. It melted into air as it fell.

  Then, she spoke another happy phrase and placed a flower on Proto’s shoulder; then, sadly spoke and flung another flower wayward.

  Back and forth she went this way, decorating Proto, as he stared in bemusement.

  As he recollected this, his breath slipped out without words. And the moment passed.

  Facing the wall of mists, Mercune spun a 360 and flung her arm forth blithely. Red radiance flared about her hand. The whitish wisps before her blew away.

  Brushing a stray red strand from her face, she beamed at him. “Had to give it extra oomph!”

  Now, Flua-Sahng stood before them, and Mercune was waltzing toward her, and the moment of opportunity had passed. The End had come.

  He’d made his old mistake. He’d been too afraid to leave the path that life laid out for him. All peril and beauty, all hazard and treasure, lay off that beaten path. He’d learnt that well at Somnus’ Palace. He’d practiced charting his own path there, and he’d been rewarded for it, over and over again. But finally, the one time it had counted most, he’d failed to do it.

  It was hard to summarize what Proto felt at that moment. Numbness? Remorse? Longing for what might’ve been? Longing for what maybe never could’ve been?

  “Welcome, Daughter of Life,” called the Queen of Heaven to Mercune, who was near to her now. “Who’s your bashful friend over yonder?” She gestured toward him.

  “Oh, I don’t think bashful is the word,” replied Mercune. “But what are you doing over yonder, Proto?” She giggled. “Let’s bring back ‘yonder.’ After ‘tubular.’”

  Proto felt like giving up. He felt like turning around, striding into the mists, being borne away in a dizzy whirl, waking up in the hallway of Somnus’ Palace, forgetting about Mercune and her dreams, and forgetting that the distant future was screwed.

  “Hey, Snow Blow! Spunky! Vajojo! You might as well believe you’re not screwed, because if you are, you’re screwed either way!” a voice within him retorted.

  Proto’s lips curved up with wistful humor. He couldn’t tell which of his inner voices it was. Maybe it was more than one. In any event, the voice had a point.

  True, if life was a game, he’d probably lost it already. But he may as well keep playing to the bitter end. He might be a loser, but he wasn’t a quitter.

  “Helllooo?” called Mercune. “You do see where to go, right? There is a yellow brick road, pointing the way to where we’re standing, right in front of you!”

  Proto forced himself back into the moment and strolled toward them. “What ever would I do without my guide?”

  “Wander for months on end with glazed eyes and a slack jaw, pondering what would be and what shall be?” suggested Flua-Sahng.

  Mercune wrinkled her nose and tilted her head. “What?”

  “Always a pleasure, Queen of Heaven,” said Proto.

  “Isn’t it though, Squid-Face!” beamed Flua-Sahng. “Can I call you that for old times’ sake?”

  “It’s all the same to you, right?” grumbled Proto. “Past, present, future.”

  “And subjunctive!” she sang. “Don’t forget the best of all!”

  “You seem happy,” said Proto. “Did Somnus finally invite you over? Or lend you a few of his bottles?”

  Flua-Sahng waved dismissively. “I need no help being happy. Fate’s only as happy as we are, Protea!” She conjured a squid-covered nightgown and threw it on his head.

  “So! That how it’s gonna be, huh?” Mercune planted her hands on her hips, looking at Flua-Sahng, then him, then her. “‘Let’s tell all our inside jokes right now, while that girl Mercune just watches dumbly.’ Well, guess what? We have inside jokes too! Don’t we Proto!”

  “For example, I’m feeling hungry. How about some sushi!” Mercune conjured a My Little Pony nightgown and threw it on Proto’s head.

  “Ohhhhh,” wailed Proto, his voice muffled by the pink fabric draped over him. “I’m a ghhhoooostt.”

  “Liar! You’re a wraith!” cried Mercune, yanking the nightgown off. “I can tell by your nice face.”

  “Well, we’re two creepsters in one cabal!” retorted Proto.

  Mercune turned triumphantly to Flua-Sahng. “Oh, listen to all that Secret-Humor-You-Don’t-Understand!” she cried, waggling her fingers at the Queen of Heaven.

  “Hmph! On any other day, I’d make you disappear right now!” declared Flua-Sahng.

  “What? What are you talking about?” the girl asked.

  “It’s an inside joke. He gets it.” Flua-Sahng winked.

  Indeed, Proto couldn’t help but smile.

  “Hmph. Stop smiling!” ordered Mercune. “Put on a long face, right now!”

  “Like this?” Proto put on a squid mask. His long tentacles wobbled.

  “That works!” affirmed Mercune. “Thank you for playing along, Play-Along-With-It Proto.”

  “No sweat, Mysterious Mercune,” he said.

  “No sweat because we’re wrraaaaiittthhs!” she wailed.

  “You two have pet names? How cute!” exclaimed Flua-Sahng.

  Proto shrugged. “Cute is as cute does, Cryptic Queen of Heaven.”

  “What? That doesn’t even make sense.” Flua-Sahng frowned. “In fact, it fails to make sense on multiple levels. Especially when you’re wearing the squid mask. Not cute.” She waved a hand, and Proto’s mask and robe melted out of being, leaving him in his tracksuit.

  “Don’t mind us. We’re just a couple weirdos and oddballs,” explained Mercune.

  “Oh, well, that’s not so bad. I hear the Queen of Heaven is the same way!” replied Flua-Sahng. “Maybe not quite the same. But we have a lot in common.”

  “We’re all cute?” asked Mercune.

  “Precisely!” cried Flua-Sahng, clasping Mercune’s hands, then turned to Proto. “Boy, did she ever steal your chance at a good line.”

  “She’s quick,” shrugged Proto.

  “Quick as a fox on a motorcycle!” concurred Mercune.

  “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” shrugged the Mother of All agreeably.

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  “In quickness or in modesty,” said Proto.

  “Yes! An inside joke for all of us,” enthused Flua-Sahng.

  As they gibed, the sky had reddened. Lights streaked above the skyline, gradually growing into manlike forms as they neared.

  Glancing at them, Mercune pressed her lips. She looked at Proto, seemingly on the verge of speech. Then, glancing at Flua-Sahng, she smiled away a sigh, wiping the corner of her eye.

  “Is something amiss, Daughter of Life?” asked the Queen of Heaven.

  “Oh, don’t mind me,” the girl replied. “I just get oddly sappy sometimes. It’s because I’m an oddball.”

  “Is that all? I thought you were proud of that!” Flua-Sahng pointed at Mercune’s Oddball badge. “Well, do keep sapping it up. Fate is only as sappy as we are.”

  “I sure hope so!” murmured Mercune. “Cause if so, boy, am I in luck!”

  “Luck, Fate, or . . . ?” questioned Proto.

  Flua-Sahng smiled. “I thought we were done with inside jokes, Proto.”

  The redhead teen gave no sign she’d even heard them. Rather, from her set of jaw and the deep breath she was taking, it looked like she was mustering up the will to do something.

  Meanwhile, the lights streaking across the skyline had grown to horned and winged figures, coming closer by the second.

  “Proto,” declared Mercune abruptly, “there’s something I’d like to give you!” Her hand was in her pocket, and firm resolve was on her face.

  “Is it emeralds and rubies?” Proto managed, eying that reddening sky. He knew this didn’t rise up to the moment, but he couldn’t think of anything better to say. He wasn’t ready for this. “I love emeralds and rubies.”

  “Oh?” asked Flua-Sahng, planting her hands on her hips, green gaze ablaze beneath her red hair. “I bet you do!”

  “No, not quite!” Mercune answered Proto earnestly, turning to Flua-Sahng. “By the way, it’s okay if I give him a gift, right?”

  “Of course, Daughter of Life.” Flua-Sahng glanced at Proto, her eyes widening, suddenly earnest. “Please do.”

  Mercune smiled and stepped toward him, opening her mouth.

  Abruptly, Proto seized her arm, an instant before she could lift her hand from her pocket, baring what lay within. “Wait. I have to give you my gift first,” he found himself saying.

  The girl blinked in surprise.

  Then, she beamed. “A gift? For me? Okay, let’s do this!”

  Well, now he’d done it. At the last possible instant, he’d veered off the path. He was charting his own course. The only problem was, he had no idea where he was going. He had no idea what to give.

  Mercune waited expectantly, her green gaze sparkling.

  He had to find a way to keep her safe so she could make her prophecy. What could he possibly gift her to accomplish that? A box of vanillas with a note on top saying, “Stay safe, stay underground. And be a seer!”

  Maybe Fate had given him a gift—a second chance to tell Mercune the whole truth. That would be his gift to her. He could give her knowledge of the future: “Don’t go above ground, or you’ll die!” What better gift from seer to seer? This made sense. The concept was appealing.

  So why was his tongue catching as he tried to speak? He looked at Flua-Sahng, wondering if she was reading his thoughts and stopping his tongue.

  But she just stared at him. There was no hint of reproof in her gaze, no hint about what he should do. Why would there be? She’d told him many times—he had to save the future. Not her.

  “By the way, Proto, while you’re getting ready,” Mercune spoke with a faint smile, jarring him out of his reverie, “I just remembered something. It’s another gift you gave me. Long ago, I think, or maybe far away. It was quite the gift!” She met his gaze and held it. Hope and excitement shimmered in her eyes. “But, I wonder, is it one that keeps on giving?”

  He stared at her uncertainly. What was she remembering? Had he met her on campus? Certainly, she couldn’t be remembering one of his practice runs. Those had just been visions conjured up by Flua-Sahng.

  And yet that glimmer in her gaze . . . !

  Proto found himself swallowing the words he’d meant to speak.

  Abruptly, he decided he couldn’t just warn her outright about the future. Divulging future knowledge had only gotten him into trouble earlier. It didn’t feel like the right solution.

  But that left him back at square one—the last place he wanted to be, while Mercune was staring expectantly at him, the sky was going red, and shining Elements were blazing through the Heavens toward them, trailing falling fires.

  There was something he was missing, something from the past week that tied things together. He reached back into his recollection, from the concert with Black all the way back to that first day, when he’d met Red, gone to Black’s Rock, and found that red rock in his tracksuit pocket.

  A memory flashed through his mind: “Hm,” mused Mercune. “I guess what I like most is to be surprised. And I like when someone thinks of what I would’ve thought of myself. It’s like . . . you’re in tune. That’s the best part about getting gifts. Not the gift itself, but feeling like you’re in tune. And being surprised by that.”

  This seemed significant. But why?

  Perhaps she saw his hesitation.

  “You’re probably wondering what I remember,” the red-haired girl spoke on, stepping slowly toward him. “You’re probably thinking, ‘That oddball Mercune! Probably about to make some corny joke!’ Well, it is corny, maybe.”

  In a swirl of mists, she conjured a corsage of blood-red wildflowers and pinned it to her gown. Seeing his uncertain look, she smiled and rolled her eyes, summoning up another wildflower in her hands.

  As he opened his mouth to say something, she placed a finger to his lips.

  Then, she placed the wildflower in his hair, speaking a phrase delightedly in a foreign tongue.

  Mercune stepped backward and met his eyes eagerly. “‘Shared Fate, strange Fate,’ right?” Her green gaze was alight, her lips curving up. She ran a hand through her red hair.

  Staring on the girl destined to die, Proto’s eyes went blurry and wet. Was he happy or sad?

  Maybe it’s not an “or.” Maybe you can’t feel the heights of happiness unless you’re stretched to hold the depths of sorrow.

  Then, abruptly—seeing her, the girl for whom Fate wove a thousand deaths, and seeing the fullness of what might be—Proto knew what should be.

  He found himself reaching into his tracksuit pocket, as detached from himself as a sleepwalker. His own actions stole over him. He was rapt.

  From his pocket, Proto withdrew a dull red rock, about palm-sized. “This stone is very special. I found it in my pocket one day, and it disappeared the next. Now, I have it again, but I can’t take it with me where I’m going. I have to leave it behind.” He handed it to her.

  Speechless for a moment, Mercune stared at him—then at the stone, and at her gown’s own pocket—and up at him again. “Who are you?”

  Mists began to swirl up from the barren floor, obscuring its reddish-brown and glowing with the starlight overhead.

  “What do you mean?” he asked. “I’m just being polite. And this is what I happened to have in my pocket.”

  “But . . . ” The girl trailed off, looking at the stone until the mists rose above it, then back at him.

  “Yes, it’s special, but don’t worry,” he assured her. “I can’t take it with me where I’m going. I have to leave it behind. I have to leave it behind.”

  She blinked and tilted her head at him. Her eyes narrowed with rumination.

  As he watched her standing there, in his mind’s eye, a memory was overlaid atop her image:

  “Like I said, Gramps’ team has dozens of rocks that absorb her power. So no one cares if I take this one. And I need it. It’s the only way I can sense Flua-Sahng, besides when I’m dreaming here.” Mercune waved at the starry wastes.

  “Oh?” An idea rushed warmly into Proto like a long-awaited breath. “What about when you’re having visions? When you’re a seer?”

  She blinked, then narrowed her green gaze. “Yes. That’s the other way.” After a long moment, she beamed. “Fortunately, when I have this rock, that’s not necessary.”

  The mists were swirling at their necks now. The soaring Elements could be seen clearly—the dread rage on their faces, wild and beastlike, and the fell power in their radiant limbs. Even Flua-Sahng was glancing anxiously between them and what was unfolding before her.

  Proto stepped toward Mercune and clasped both her hands.

  She blinked twice and looked up at him, confused and young.

  He didn’t say anything. He just smiled with all he had, a smile that spanned from sorrow’s depths to happiness’ heights, and hoped it said what words couldn’t.

  That was the last he saw of her, before mist swelled over her head. And, he supposed, it was the last she saw of him. But he still felt the grasp of her fingers—more ethereal and wraithlike by the second—as he turned to look at Flua-Sahng.

  The Queen of Heaven’s lips had fallen apart, and her eyes were wide upon him. He’d never seen such doubt upon her face.

  Proto pressed his lips and clutched the unseen girl’s hands harder, as the grey mirk on the peripheries of his prospect rushed inward toward him. Within a blink, that gloam overtook the streaking Elements, blotting out their blaze and wailing wrath.

  As he stood there and waited for the end, another memory overtook him:

  “There’s something else special about this rock, right?” he said. “Something about the rock itself, not just losing it and finding it?”

  “Yes, in fact! I’m glad you ask,” Mercune answered. “It’s weird, but when it’s near the Fossil, I can feel it absorbing energy. Like a battery! Problem is, it’s so slow, it’d take a few hundred years to charge. And I’d be dusty bones by then.”

  “Oh, Mercune, you’ll never just be dust!” chastised Flua-Sahng.

  “Dusty bones!” cried Mercune. “Okay, fine, I’ll be roving the Mists. All drifty drifty over there!” She waved toward the mistscape. “Is that better?”

  Even now, the mists were swirling above his vision, as, from the skies, grey mirk bulged down upon him and immersed him.

  As he entered the darkness, he felt like he’d been heaved aloft and was tumbling headlong. Each breath left him dizzier. But as he toppled through obscurity, no landing came.

  Were his hands still clasping something? Nothing solid, certainly. But maybe a wisp of what once was? Something so faintly real that it seemed spectral? The barest thousandth of a former thing, refusing to be nothing?

  If so, he didn’t know and couldn’t know. His consciousness, or memories, now were melting into nothing. He wasn’t sure which. All he knew was, he no longer understood where he was, or what he was doing, or why.

  Even so, one last recollection played out in his mind:

  The deaths disappeared as they descended upon Mercune, and gradually so did she, till only a spectral outline of her spritely figure remained. The starlight barely caught upon her diaphanous form. The red of her hair and the green of her tunic were no more than a tinted lens between him and the blue beyond.

  Yet he could see she still was watching them—that silhouetted couple faraway, now drawing close to that half-translucent wall of red. The girl in that couple was raising something in her hand.

  A dull red rock.

  And, with a flash, the red wall parted for them. They walked through it.

  “Oh. There is a way,” murmured Mercune, wide-eyed with an entranced zeal. She reached toward them, her whole frame waxing with ethereal red. “All you have to do is . . . ”