Proto’s eyes abruptly blinked open, and he leaned his head up from his pillow. He squinted against the dim blue glow of his CRT T.V.

  His eyes were bleary and couldn’t quite discern the screen, but Illusion of Gaia clearly was on. He could hear its music wafting from the speakers.

  Feeling something plasticky in his hand, he looked down. It was an SNES controller.

  None of this was terribly odd, in and of itself. He’d ended pretty much every day lately by playing that game. And, for him, falling asleep on the couch was par for the course.

  Yet, even with Proto’s highly imperfect and much-maligned memory, he recalled enough to realize there was a problem here.

  I’m not supposed to be here! I’m supposed to be at Somnus’ Palace!

  Was this all just a dream after all? All of Somnus’ Palace? All of that last week I lived?

  Some might be pleased to learn that they’d not been in a body-destroying car accident, shortly before the fiery end of the world—that in fact they’d just been dreaming.

  As for Proto, though, he felt highly disgruntled. And who could blame him? If this had been a dream, well, it’d been an awfully long and arduous dream, and he’d worked awfully hard on it. It had seemed like some romantic conclusion soon would be justifying all that work.

  Dreams that stop an instant short of romance are, indeed, the worst of all dreams.

  Not only is it fake—you don’t even get to enjoy it! he mused. So, for a moment, he was feeling pretty blue.

  Then, irked by some object jabbing into his skinny ribcage as he lay on his side, he reached into his tracksuit pocket and pulled it out.

  It was a red rock, so dull it seemed to absorb the light around it.

  Proto stared at it dumbly for a moment.

  When he finally wrapped his head around what he was seeing—Mercune’s red rock, which was impossible—his thoughts went giddy: This is a dream! I’m only dreaming of my old bedroom! And Somnus’ dream realm is reality!

  Am I a butterfly dreaming I’m a man, or a man dreaming I’m a butterfly dreaming I’m a man? Well, we have our answer—reality’s where I met the lady with the red and purple butterfly wings!

  After he settled down from this giddy flight, he had a more disturbing thought.

  I don’t seem to be waking up. What if this isn’t a dream? What if I really had Mercune’s red rock in my tracksuit? It already happened once, somehow.

  He thought back to that day, at the start of his fateful last week in the waking world. That day had started a lot like this one, hadn’t it? T.V. on, game playing, controller in hand.

  Am I in a time loop? Am I fated to forever repeat my last week of life? With long-awaited romance on the verge of reaching its climax, but never quite reaching it? Multiple romances?!

  He recalled the myth of Tantalus, whose punishment in the underworld was that he had to roll a boulder up a hill, only to have it slip away and roll down whenever he got close to the top. And his eyes went wide.

  Am I in the underworld? Am I in Hell?! . . . Is there really Illusion of Gaia in Hell?

  Miss Beatrice’s gleeful voice piped in: Look at you and your “multiple romances”! Hm! It seems your wanton lecherous ways have caught up with you, Don Juan!

  I don’t know even who Don Juan is! protested Proto. I’m just a guy in a tracksuit who likes to keep his options open!

  Then, he wiped the lingering bleariness out of his eyes, sat up and scanned the room, searching for fires and brimstone.

  He didn’t find any. But he did see some whitish-grey wisps drifting around the floor.

  Is my house burning down?! He scrambled to his feet.

  Then, finding the floor to be a very ordinary temperature, he calmed down and reassessed the situation. He soon made a few important observations.

  First, the whitish-grey wisps looked exactly like the mists that he typically saw while visiting dreams.

  Second, Illusion of Gaia was playing itself on the T.V. again. The hero had ventured out and now was slashing beasts and slaying fiends with abandon. The song that was playing was Awakening the Wind, not Longing for the Past.

  Third, Proto was able to conjure objects into being with his mind. He focused on the first thing he could think of—an elegant cane, like the one he’d attacked that robber with in Emil’s original dream. And, sure enough, it formed out of mists in his hand.

  Clasping his hand around it, he tested the weight and launched a few practice jabs. It was well-balanced.

  . . . WTF? It’s a cane, Weirdo. And what do you know about “well-balanced” canes?

  He threw it aside, and it melted away before it hit the ground.

  Well, things finally were becoming clear. He really was in Somnus’ Palace, and he really had just visited Mercune’s dream. But instead of waking up afterward, he’d just proceeded to have an ordinary dream of his own bedroom.

  Proto had visited so many dreams lately, he’d almost forgotten he could have them himself.

  It all made sense, except one thing. For some reason, he could still remember all the Possibilities—all the potential true loves open to him. Normally, this only happened when he was in Mercune’s dream and he’d leapt into the Mists. Did that mean that, somehow, he was still in the Mists?

  Well, whatever. He didn’t feel like doing any more heady pondering today. He just felt proud he’d figured out he was dreaming.

  “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice—not happening, my friend!” he declared giddily.

  “Do you always talk to yourself in your dreams, Proto?” replied a queenly voice behind him. “Pray tell, who’s the friend?”

  “I have friends, I swear,” he replied, turning around.

  There was the radiant, leaf-garbed Queen of Heaven, arching a red eyebrow dubiously. “Mm.”

  “Friends in high places! Like the breathing world,” he insisted.

  “Yes, lots and lots of friends,” she mused. “So many friends! In the breathing world and the realm of dreams! Red-haired and black-haired, and silvery-blue-haired, and red-and-purple-butterfly-winged! Is it possible to have too many friends, do you think?”

  “Um.” He looked awry. “Tough choices ahead, eh?”

  “Psh! Woe is you, eh? You sound like a writer for The Bachelor,” she scoffed. “To answer your questions earlier, yes, you’re dreaming, and yes, you’re still in the Mists.

  “So, am I going to remember all this when I wake up and leave the Mists?” he asked.

  She tilted her head thoughtfully. “‘Am I going to.’ ‘When I leave.’ Hm, I’ll have to think about those tenses.”

  “What?” Proto shook his head, eying the swirling mists. “Anyway, I take it you’re the reason it looks like I stole the smoke machine from a Van Halen concert?”

  “I plead the Fifth.” Flua-Sahng batted her red lashes. “Couldn’t let you go quite yet. We had to have a chat somewhere, and Mercune’s dream wasn’t available. So I thought, ‘Why not have Proto host me for once!’” She spread her arms forth toward his room.

  “Well, make yourself at home,” he grumbled.

  “Already have!” She gestured toward his SNES. On top of it, he now saw, a red teapot was steaming.

  “WTF! Are you steeping tea on my most treasured possession?” he cried.

  “I made this place! And you! And all your treasured possessions!” she retorted. “So yes, I daresay I am!”

  “You’re just trying to be tyrannically matriarchal!” he accused.

  The Mother of All giggled. “Oh, fine.” She waved a hand, and the teapot floated away from his Super Nintendo. It settled atop his CRT T.V., splashing a little as it landed. “So. We have things to talk about.”

  “I guess we do, don’t we,” he muttered.

  “You know, Proto,” she mused, “for someone who just attempted to save the future from an impending void and the annihilation of everything, and doesn’t know whether he succeeded, you’re spectacularly uncurious.”

  “Well, like they say,” he yawned, stretching, “courage is changing what we can change, serenity is accepting everything else.”

  “Oh, aren’t you wise,” she chided dryly. “What ever happened to, ‘You might as well believe you’re not screwed, because if you are, you’re screwed either way!’ I liked that Proto. What happened to him?”

  “He got hit by a car,” replied Proto.

  “Touché,” she tittered. “Anyhow, in short, Mister Seer-Turned-Visitor, you did it. Congratulations.”

  He blinked and stared. Warmth rose within his breast, and he felt butterflies fluttering there. “You mean . . . ?”

  “What, should I put it in your terms?” she asked. “We’re back on track and running forward! We’re back in the saddle and riding toward sunset! And there’s definitely going to be a sequel, because I’m watching clips of it right now! The future isn’t what it used to be! The future is looking up! This future is fully operational! Achievement Unlocked: Future Saved! Rank: S. As in, ‘Somehow, Some Shameful Slacker Succeeded in Saving Us All’!”

  Sighing, Proto smiled.

  “And now he’s sighing about our good luck! How very like him,” she ruminated disapprovingly.

  “Lady Luck’s nice, but I prefer Flua-Sahng,” he replied.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Mm. I take it back, you’re not so bad after all.” Beaming and radiant like the sunrise, Flua-Sahng hugged him. “Quite a wonder, in fact. Well done, Proto. The future is what you made it.”

  And for once, basking in the warmth of the Mother of All’s praise and embrace, Proto felt wholly and unabashedly good and happy.

  “So,” she eventually said, withdrawing, “you’re probably wondering how this all played out. Plays out? Is playing out? Will play out?” She quirked her lips thoughtfully.

  “Might play out?” offered Proto.

  “No, for once, we can speak with certainty. The future is saved. Well done!” she repeated. “Anyhow, here’s the short of it.”

  “At the end of Mercune’s dream, based on how you were acting, she realized you were trying to tell her something but couldn’t say it directly,” Flua-Sahng explained. “You gave her the Passagestone—that is, the red rock—and you said you ‘had to leave it behind.’ Well, she didn’t forget that. She took that message to heart. So, when she went to Dubai, she left behind the red rock at Atlean University, where my Fossil also was being stored. You know, that red-glowing, teardrop-shaped rock that’s the last remnant of me up in the breathing world?”

  As she spoke, she poured herself some tea. “Then, the skies fell, civilization quaked and burnt, so on and so forth.” She sipped with satisfaction, closing her eyes briefly.

  “After all that finished, Fyrir’s son found the red rock in the University’s ruins, together with my Fossil,” she explained. “I guess you didn’t know Fyrir had a son, did you? Anyhow, Fyrir’s son had his own son, who had his own, so on and so forth. They handed the red rock and the Fossil down, son to son, for a thousand years. Would you believe it? Kings can’t even manage that with kingships! Except in Japan. Lovely place.”

  “Anyhow,” she continued, “after centuries of being steeped in the power emanating from my Fossil—much like this red tea here—the red rock took on a strange trait. It allowed people to walk through the Boundaries that had fragmented the earth, following the destruction wrought by my brethren. They called that red stone the Passagestone. Like I said.”

  “The Passagestone eventually fell into the hands of a certain red-haired young woman a thousand years from now, who, together with a very nice young man, used it to cross the Boundaries now dividing the world. Which ended up being awfully important!”

  “But . . . that’s another story. I’ll stop here before I put you to sleep, Sleepwalker.” She patted him on the hand. “Which would be impressive, given that you’re already sleeping.”

  “Am I a butterfly dreaming of a tracksuit, or a tracksuit dreaming it’s a Sleepwalker?” he mused.

  “No, just a Sleepwalker who dreams he’s asleep,” she assured him.

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Never mind. You’re confused enough already,” she said.

  Proto agreed. He had other things to focus on. “So, Mercune—did she end up staying underground forever? Is that how she stayed safe in Dubai, after civilization collapsed?”

  “Heavens, no. Underground forever? Were you hoping she really would turn into a wraith?” frowned Flua-Sahng. “First’s name, Proto, I know you like fairies—I’ve seen your Possibilities—but a wraith?!”

  “No. Mercune occasionally went up to the surface. In most possible futures, she would’ve died in doing so,” Flua-Sahng continued. “However, since Mercune chose to be a seer rather than a doer, I was able to help her avoid that. Whenever she would’ve gone above-ground and died, I put her in a seer’s trance instead.”

  “From the outside world’s perspective, it would’ve looked like a seizure. From Mercune’s perspective, it would’ve seemed like she was seeing the future. And from my perspective, I was saving her life!” The Queen of Heaven beamed. “And you say I just sit on the sidelines.”

  “What? No. You said that!” countered Proto.

  “Mm, you thought it, don’t deny it,” she waved. “That said, you’re right about one thing. Eventually, Mercune and all those labcoat-types at Wraithing Research Center will stop going above-ground. And they’ll stay safe that way. Sort of. But that’s another story.”

  “And, just to clarify,” said Proto. “You’ve been talking in the past tense about what Mercune did. But all this stuff will be happening in the future, right? It hasn’t actually happened yet.”

  Flua-Sahng sighed. “You see? Whenever I stop using the subjunctive, this happens.”

  “Anyway,” smiled Proto, “I’m glad you kept her safe. I didn’t realize you’d be intervening to help with that.

  “Oh, I have a hand in most things,” replied the Queen of Heaven. “But don’t give me all the credit! ‘I have to leave it behind. I have to leave it behind.’ Nicely done. Mildly genius, even!”

  “Well, I’m mildly flattered,” said our hero.

  “Oh, stop. I say ‘mildly’ to maintain my aura of queenly detachment, not to diminish the magnitude of your accomplishment, and you know it!” she chided.

  Proto laughed quietly.

  “I also say ‘mildly’ to avoid inflating your sense of self-worth,” she continued. “I like my Protos like I like the cream cheese on my bagels. Thin and modest.”

  “Well, I’m glad someone likes it,” he grumbled, feeling his ribcage. “Anyway, I’m getting the sense I wasn’t the only one who knew what I had to do to save the future. I get the sense you maybe might’ve known more than you let on, even if you couldn’t tell me . . . ?”

  “I maybe might’ve.” Her lips curved up. “Yes, I knew the shape of it. But how you’d flesh it out was up to you. Please don’t be too mad at me. If I’d told you, I would’ve prevented it from happening! Queen of Heaven’s Uncertainty Principle, you understand.”

  “And, anyhow, someone did tell you outright what you had to do. Aitvaras, my ostensible son!” She rolled her eyes. “Too clever by half, that one.”

  “What?” blinked Proto, trying to think back.

  “Look, just watch him!” Flua-Sahng waved a hand, and suddenly, Proto was immersed in memory.

  He was facing a great squid-faced being in a gloamy cavern. The being was speaking to him in a silent voice, echoing through his head:

  Here will the seven wanderers find my Fossil and bear it out into the unready world. They will bear me across Boundaries and Fragments using the Passagestone, steeped with my mother’s power over centuries’ time.

  “Did you hear that?” exclaimed Flua-Sahng, abruptly transporting Proto’s awareness back to the present. “He said it outright! They need the Passagestone—Mercune’s red rock—to cross the Boundaries that were created by Fyrir and his fellow scientists. The rock had to steep in my power over the centuries. The power of my Fossil, in other words.”

  “And you say I play games of ‘hide the rock’!” She rolled her eyes.

  “Let me put it even more simply for you: Mercune had to leave the red rock behind at Atlean University, because it had to stay with my Fossil, so it gradually could turn into a Passagestone! That way, two future wanderers could use it to save the world!” she cried. “Is it all clear now?!”

  Proto blinked and stared.

  “No? Well, I tried,” sighed Flua-Sahng. “Anyhow, Aitvaras is mildly clever, isn’t he? Telling you the future outright, but in a way you wouldn’t understand until after the fact. Bless his heart. You can tell he’s my son, can’t you? Plenty of family resemblance! Even if it doesn’t quite show in the face.”

  Proto pictured that wobbly squid-face. “‘Mother of All.’ They really meant it, huh,” he murmured, lips quirking up.

  “Pardon me?” she exclaimed indignantly.

  “When you say he’s your son . . . ” Proto began slowly.

  Flua-Sahng shifted uncomfortably. “Ostensible son, I said.” She shrugged. “As I said, I have a hand in most things!”

  “‘A hand in most things.’ ‘Mother of All.’ You’re like an old country grandma,” said Proto.

  “‘Old country grandma’?” she frowned. “First, I don’t look a day older than I did at twenty aeons. Second, you’ve never even met an old country grandma! Mercune has. Have you been talking to her? Are you two ganging up on me?!”

  “Have I been talking to Mercune?” Proto recalled his week of visiting the redhead girl’s dreams, followed by today’s dream visit. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

  “Hmph! Glib, aren’t you,” she reproved. “Youth these days. Ganging up on the Mother of All.”

  “Well,” he replied, “I’m just glad Mercune’s still around for me to gang up with.”

  Proto felt a little sad as he said this, realizing it didn’t make any sense. How would he ever see her again? Even if he went back from Somnus’ Palace to the breathing world, he’d be in a postapocalyptic world fragmented by uncrossable Boundaries. And she’d be in Dubai!

  Flua-Sahng squeezed his hand and smiled. “Me too. More than you know,” she replied.

  “Which reminds me!” she went on. “You know how you told Wentsworth and Uberta to visit Mercune and be kind to her? Well, it’s an awfully good thing you did that. Otherwise, the one version of Mercune’s future with a potentially happy ending, wouldn’t have had a happy ending!”

  “Instead, after the fiery worldwide Pandaemonium, Mercune was going to get very sad, about a variety of things—probably understandable—and, well, she wasn’t going to make it!” said Flua-Sahng.

  “Would you believe that the difference between an eternal void and a bright future—for the whole world—was a daffy remark by Wentsworth that made Mercune laugh?” she mused. “Well, it was! And I didn’t even plan that, believe it or not. Happy accident!”

  “Chance?” said Proto. “Or mild genius?”

  “‘Chance.’ Sounds like a dog’s name. As for ‘mild genius,’ I won’t even dignify that with a response,” she scoffed. “But I won’t take the credit either. For once, it wasn’t Lady Luck, the Fates, or Flua-Sahng.”

  Suddenly flush with radiance, she beamed and clasped both his hands, her green eyes meeting his. “Just a good heart.”

  Proto felt mildly embarrassed. But he was used to it; and, all in all, it was a good feeling.

  “Now.” The Queen of Heaven withdrew, looking wistful. “The time has come.”

  He blinked and listened closely.

  “In a moment, you’re going to forget all your Possibilities forever,” she said. “With one exception, of course—whichever one you eventually choose. And even that Possibility, you won’t remember. Rather, you’ll discover it day by day, side by side with the one whose heart completes yours.”

  “Some of those Possibilities involve staying for a time at Somnus’ Palace. And you’re very familiar with those. You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about them,” she said. “Other Possibilities, though, you’ve maybe not thought about so much.”

  “If you were planning ever to do so, I’d suggest you do it now,” she urged. “You’ll have no more chances! This is it! I’ve burdened you with knowledge of all your possible futures for quite long enough, and I won’t be doing so again.”

  “Of course, in a sense, it doesn’t matter which Possibilities you choose to remember right now. Since I’ll be removing your memories of them,” noted Flua-Sahng. “But who knows? Even memories forgotten can be felt sometimes by the shape of their absence. Perhaps that feeling of things forgotten will guide you someday.”

  As Proto struggled to wrap his mind around what he was hearing, a memory from his last week in the breathing world flashed into his recollection:

  Pity showed on Flua-Sahng’s face. “I deliberately shared those futures with you. That is, everyone you might have chosen during your Saturn Return at Somnus’ Palace.”

  “Everyone you might have chosen.”

  “I have a question,” he said.

  “Oh?” Flua-Sahng’s eyes glimmered with a zeal that reminded him of Somnus. “And what’s that?”

  “So, the Possibilities that I remember right now—I had thought those were all the Possibilities open to me,” he spoke slowly. “But that’s not right, is it?”

  “What I remember right now are just the Possibilities available to me in the original timeline. The futures I could’ve chosen on my original Saturn Return at Somnus’ Palace,” he went on. “Right?”

  “Mm. That’s mildly clever.” She smiled. “Yes. In that timeline, there was a limited pool of people whom you might’ve picked, who also might’ve said yes. Those are the only Possibilities you’ve been recalling.”

  “Now, we’re in a rather different timeline. You’ve experienced some rather different events, especially during your last week in the breathing world,” she explained. “Frankly, you had a lot more fun this time! And so did I. So, yes, you’re right. Your Possibilities are rather different now.”

  “So, if I wanted to see my new Possibilities,” said Proto, “could you show me?”

  “Ahh.” Flua-Sahng gave him a big motherly grin. “You’re wondering about one of your new friends, aren’t you? Or perhaps an older friendship . . . rekindled? Mm. How cute!”

  “To answer your question, certainly!” she said. “As long as you don’t mind forgetting it forever as soon as you leave this dream.”

  “It’s okay. I think part of me will remember it even if I forget it,” he replied. “That seems to happen to me a lot.”

  “Very true,” she nodded. “But are you ready, Proto? This is our farewell, you know. Not forever, but for a time. And when I do see you in Fyrir’s dream, you won’t remember any of this! It makes me sad!” She blinked twice at him.

  Leaning forward, Proto gave a hug to the starry-leaf-garbed Mother of All.

  “Ohh.” She hugged him back sadly, resting her red head on his shoulder. And when they withdrew, he saw a single tear on her cheek.

  “I feel like you’re leaving me to go to college! And graduating! And getting married!” she cried. “All those ‘leaving me forever’ moments in life!”

  “Forever?” he repeated. “Will I see you again after Fyrir’s dream?”

  “Well, yes,” she said. “But it might be a while.”

  He tilted his head. “When you say ‘might’—?”

  “Don’t take this moment away from me, Proto!” she complained. “For being the Mother of All, it’s awfully rare that I get a good motherly cry. Do you think I have occasion to do this for Somnus and Aitvaras?”

  Seeing the despondency in her moist eyes, Proto couldn’t help but give her another hug.

  “That’s better.” She pulled him close. “We’ve gone through lots together, you know. And lots you don’t know!”

  Then, she withdrew, sniffling, and brushed the tears off her face. “Now. It’s time to compose myself. I Ordered Chaos, and I ringed the Ringed One; I can keep a brave face too. Godspeed, Proto. You’ll know I’m with you by the red in your cheek and the laughter of those around you; sometimes, perhaps, even laughing with you! As I have. Loving laughter.”

  Proto regarded the sunset-haired Queen of Heaven—hands clasped beneath her leafy garb, her face full of wistfulness and memories, her green gaze shimmering wide.

  Suddenly, he found himself turning away to wipe his own eyes.

  “Now now, no need to turn away!” she chided, voice quavering. “I saw all your ancestors without diapers, remember? And all their tears too. And now, you’ve seen mine. Farewell, Proto.”

  She handcurled twice at him. He did the same back.

  From her fingers rushed twin streams of mists, which swirled about him and bore him away into a starry mirk of grey. He hurtled through obscurity, as he had so many times before, as far lights whirled in parallax.

  Rather than emerging into a misty blue hallway, however, he just kept soaring through the aether, farther and farther toward the unknown and inscrutable.

  Lost in a vertigo of whirling dark and light, only one thing was clear: this time, he was headed someplace different.

  But maybe not so very different. The words echoed through his head, as strange forms took shape before him. Someplace foreign, but familiar too.