The Void-Walker's Last Spark

Chapter 2: Enter the Everdawn

Aetherion didn't walk toward the stairs. That would have taken too long, and the high-pitched singing emanating from his armpits was rapidly eroding his legendary patience. Instead, he simply exhaled, and the space between the ballroom floor and the floating balcony folded like a discarded napkin.

In a flicker of midnight-blue-turned-neon-pink, he appeared directly in front of the group of young immortals.

The laughter died down, replaced by a tense, excited silence. The youth in the center—a girl with hair that shifted through the colors of a bruised sunset and eyes that sparkled with far too much caffeine—didn't look afraid. She looked like she had just won the lottery.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," Aetherion said, his voice flat. He raised an arm, and the glitter on his sleeve immediately began a four-part harmony of a nursery rhyme. "Is this supposed to be a joke? Or is 'disruptive art' just a fancy way of saying you never grew out of your toddler phase?"

The girl grinned, leaning back against the crystalline railing. "Wow. Up close, the pink really brings out the 'I haven't slept since the Big Bang' bags under your eyes, Aeth. Can I call you Aeth? I feel like we’re bonding."

"We are not bonding," Aetherion snapped. "We are currently in a state of extreme friction. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get sentient glitter out of celestial silk? It’s going to be humming in my closet for the next three centuries."

"Actually, it’s not just glitter," she said, stepping forward. She was wearing a jacket that looked like it was woven from repurposed gravity wells. "It’s a socio-magical commentary. Each speck is programmed with a fragment of a lost civilization’s joy. You’re literally covered in the happiness of the fallen. Deep, right?"

"It’s annoying, Zinnia," Therion’s voice drifted up from below as he floated lazily toward them, still holding his drink. "And Aeth is a bit of a drama queen about his robes. You’ve picked a very grumpy target for your masterpiece."

Aetherion shot a glare at his friend. "Don't 'Zinnia' her. You know this brat?"

"Zinnia Everdawn," the girl introduced herself, skipping the formal bow and instead offering a two-finger salute. "Daughter of the Duke of Boreas, professional vibe-checker, and your new favorite person. And for the record, it’s not a prank. It’s an intervention."

Aetherion wiped a glob of singing slime off his cheek and flicked it toward the abyss. "An intervention? For what? My lack of neon accessories?"

"For your boredom, Gramps!" Zinnia laughed, the sound bright and jarring against the sophisticated hum of the Gala. "I saw you down there. You looked like you were waiting for the heat death of the universe just so you could finally have an excuse to take a nap. That supernova? You didn't even blink. You’re stagnant. You’re a dusty old book in a library nobody visits anymore."

"I like being a dusty book," Aetherion said. "Books are quiet. Books don't throw glowing garbage at people."

"But books are meant to be read, aren't they?" Zinnia tilted her head, her sunset hair falling over one shoulder. "You’ve got six billion years of stories in there, and you’re wasting them sitting on rocks in the middle of nowhere. I figured if I couldn't make you feel awe, I’d at least make you feel irritated. Irritation is a sign of life, at least."

"I feel plenty of things," Aetherion retorted. "Mostly a very strong urge to turn you into a decorative shrub for a few decades. Give you some time to reflect on your 'artistic vision.'"

"Oh, please. You wouldn't. That’s too much effort, and you’re way too lazy for a proper curse," she teased, circling him like a predator—or a very energetic puppy. "Admit it. This is the most interesting thing that’s happened to you all millennium."

"A root canal without anesthesia would be interesting, but I’m not signing up for one," Aetherion said. He looked at the other kids, who were now whispering and taking mental snapshots. "Is this what the youth are doing now? Harassing their elders for sport?"

"We’re the 'Void-Walkers,' darling," Zinnia said, puffing out her chest. "We’re about breaking the cycle. This Gala is a tomb. The music is a funeral march. Everyone here is just waiting for their turn to fade out. I’m just trying to wake the neighbors."

"By making me look like a discotheque?"

"By making you react," she corrected. "Look at your hands. They’re shaking. Is that anger? Or is it adrenaline? I bet you haven't felt adrenaline since the last time a galaxy collided."

Aetherion looked down at his hands. They weren't shaking, but he could feel a warmth in his chest that wasn't the nectar-wine. It was a sharp, jagged spark of genuine, unadulterated pique. "It’s mostly the desire to throw you off this balcony."

"Do it!" Zinnia challenged, her eyes widening. "Throw me. Let’s see if you’ve still got the grip strength of a god or if you’ve gone soft from all that 'reflecting.'"

Therion chuckled from the sidelines. "She’s got you there, Aeth. You have been looking a bit soft lately. Maybe a little gym time? A little planet-tossing?"

"Shut up, Therion," Aetherion sighed. He turned back to Zinnia, his expression hardening into a mask of cold, ancient authority. "Listen, Zinnia. You want a reaction? You want to play at being 'disruptive'? You’re a child playing with matches in a room full of gunpowder. I’ve ended eras for less than this."

"Ooh, the 'I’m an ancient god' speech! I love this part," Zinnia said, clapping her hands. "Does it come with thunder? I’d really like some thunder. It adds to the aesthetic."

"You are incredibly exhausting," Aetherion groaned, rubbing his temples. "How do your parents deal with you? Do they just keep you in a pocket dimension most of the time?"

"They try. I keep picking the locks," she said with a wink. "But seriously, Aetherion Valerius. You’re the legend. The man who saw the first light. The guy who supposedly carries the weight of the void. And yet, here you are, getting bullied by a girl with a glitter-popper. Doesn't that bother you?"

"What bothers me is that you think this makes us equals in some sort of narrative," Aetherion said. "You’re a footnote, Zinnia. A very loud, very pink footnote."

"A footnote? Ouch. That actually stung a little," she said, though she was still smiling. "But you’re wrong. I’m not a footnote. I’m the inciting incident. And since you’re so bored with the universe, I’ve decided to make you my personal project."

Aetherion’s heart sank. "Please don't."

"Too late! I’ve already decided," Zinnia declared, stepping onto the railing and balancing precariously over the golden sunset clouds. "We are now officially destined rivals. It’s a thing. I’m making it a thing."

"I don't accept the nomination," Aetherion said. "I decline. I withdraw. I’m going home to sit in a dark room."

"You can't decline destiny, Aeth! That’s like... Rule One of Being a Protagonist," she shouted over the wind that was beginning to whip around her. "You think you’re so much better than us because you’ve seen it all? Fine. Let’s see if you can handle a little chaos that you didn't predict."

"I predict I’m going to be very annoyed for the next hour," Aetherion muttered.

"Think bigger!" Zinnia laughed. She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small, obsidian sphere that hummed with a low, rhythmic throb. "I challenge you, Aetherion Valerius. A contest of Wills and Wits. If I win, you have to stop being a hermit and actually join the living. You have to mentor the Void-Walkers and show us the 'real' secrets of the universe."

"And if I win?" Aetherion asked, his curiosity getting the better of his common sense.

"If you win... I’ll stop the glitter. Forever. I’ll even give you the secret to the 'Universal Solvent' that gets it off your robes."

Aetherion paused. The glitter was currently starting a chorus of a particularly grating folk song about a lonely star. "The solvent? Truly?"

"Cross my heart and hope to fade," she said, making a theatrical gesture over her chest.

"Fine," Aetherion said, his voice dropping into a tone of absolute command. "I’ll play your little game. But be warned, child. I don't lose. I’ve outlasted empires, and I will certainly outlast a 'disruptive artist' with a flair for the dramatic."

"That’s the spirit!" Zinnia beamed. "I knew there was a spark left in those old bones."

Suddenly, the obsidian sphere in her hand began to glow with an intense, blinding white light. The air around the balcony began to crackle with ozone, and the guests below looked up, finally realizing that something more than a prank was happening.

"Wait, what is that?" Therion asked, his playful demeanor finally vanishing. "Zinnia, that’s a Temporal Displacement Core. Where did you get that?"

"Borrowed it from Dad’s 'Do Not Touch' vault!" Zinnia yelled over the rising roar of the light. "See you around, Rival! Don't be late for the first round!"

"First round? What first round—" Aetherion started to reach for her, but it was too late.

With a sound like a thunderclap made of crystal, Zinnia vanished in a blinding flash. The force of the displacement sent a shockwave through the balcony, ruffling Aetherion’s pink-matted hair and knocking the glasses out of the hands of the nearby guests.

When the light cleared, the balcony was empty. Zinnia and her group of Void-Walkers were gone.

Aetherion stood there, his chest heaving slightly, the silence of the Gala feeling heavier than before. He looked down at the spot where she had been standing. Resting on the railing was a small, rectangular piece of parchment. It smelled faintly of jasmine and ozone.

He picked it up. The paper was black, but as he touched it, neon-pink lettering began to bleed into existence.

[YOU HAVE 24 HOURS UNTIL THE FIRST CRASH. DON'T BE A BORE, AETH.]

Below the text, a glowing countdown timer appeared, ticking down the seconds in a steady, rhythmic pulse.

23:59:58... 23:59:57...

Aetherion stared at the note, then looked at Therion, who was staring back with a mixture of horror and suppressed amusement.

"So," Therion said, breaking the silence. "Does this mean we’re not going to the gardens to judge people’s outfits?"

Aetherion crumpled the note in his fist, his jaw set. "Therion?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"I’m going to find her. And then I’m going to make sure she spends the next eternity wishing she’d just stuck to painting."

"Exciting!" Therion grinned, finishing his drink in one gulp. "This is way better than a supernova."

Aetherion didn't respond. He just watched the countdown on the back of his hand—which had somehow transferred itself to his skin—and felt a feeling he hadn't experienced in a very long time.

He was actually looking forward to tomorrow.