The genius pondered.
If one cannot rely on anticipation of what comes next, then one must arrange it oneself.
Originium.
The first light before the Big Bang.
Only this method—drowning the world in Originium—can return matter and time, tides and awe, light and lament, to the boundless sea of information…
We believed that by seeking change, a breakthrough, we could escape the fate of oblivion.
Even if…
This is not change, but a form of death.
This is not annihilation but preservation.
Then, by her side, another genius like her spoke in sorrow:
“One must not commit the arrogance of erecting gravestones to the stars’ requiem, of leaving songs for posterity.”
In farewell and greeting, people strive to remember each other’s final moments. Yet even within such fragile meshes there drift solitary islands, like castaways in a vast sea.
They are wretched guests here, unable to weave bonds even in life. They did not gather among their own kind, but chewed down their solitude in isolation.
I am that lone island, standing still like a solitary atoll in the vast ocean. I wet my parched throat with water, restraining myself so I would not be swept away by others’ emotions.
Soon, many lay down in their sarcophagi and slipped into sleep, embarking on a distant voyage through Originium. Those left behind at the harbor, awaiting their eventual return, wiped away their tears as they saw them off.
With so many departed, the city, once a damp clockwork of activity, forgot even its gears and became a silent graveyard.
Now they would remain in that torpor, cross the Stargate, and descend into the depths of subterranean stasis shelters.
We turned our gaze to the navigator and captain who would carry the countless sleepers across short distances and extraordinarily long durations.
He stood with whiskers like a drowned rat, his eyes rimmed red as he wept without restraint. He swallowed the ragged sound of his own sobs, bit his lip, and stared into the distance, tears streaming unabated.
None of those left dared tell him to stop crying. He wept as though releasing the last reservoir of tears he could never shed again.
He did not cry; tears simply oozed from eyes burning within.
Trevor Preynote soon steeled himself, reminding himself of his resolve and his irreversible choice. Once entropy flowed in reverse and the universe’s total potential began to accelerate anew, there would be no turning back.
The Preserver boarded the vessel he commanded, passed through the transfer gate, and landed at the station where he was to arrive.
His final stop was a nameless terminus, a station destined never to see another passenger.
Now, those remaining at the station could be counted on one hand with fingers to spare.
We gathered our belongings, agreed to meet again on the ship, and parted ways.
The genius pondered.
What use is leaving a requiem for the forgotten to attend if there will be no one left to sing the melody or read the score?
She envisioned the moment when all Originium would blanket the world and silence fell, only for the first spark of light to blaze like the Big Bang.
For that moment, she would gladly endure Promethean torment—millennia of being pecked by birds—for humanity.
The sob of a child echoing like the sound of stars falling silent, birth towards the end of life, the awe that blooms in death.
She remembered.
The companion who would reach across the wall of distant time and grasp her hand once more.
The Rhodes Island vessel departed the city and embarked on its journey into the wasteland. Its trajectory, precomputed along a co-orbital path, would fulfill its role as an ark.
Feeling the vibration of the moving infinite track beneath their feet, those on the deck looked up to find a sky unlike any before: a shield layer completely blotting out the stars and a dormant transfer gate where light had gone dark.
With the passage of time, this Terra sky would become an unclaimed land unto which no foot could reach. Yet, humanity’s perennial longing for the heavens would survive, and one day this very vista would return, evoking déjà vu.
Under such a sky.
Two figures stood at the fore of the deck, conversing.
They gazed at the great moon beyond the shield layer, reflecting on their journey and sharing whispered songs meant for only them.
"I have prepared a gift for you, Prophet."
The Priestess pressed a sound file into his hand. "...What do you hear?"
"This is..."
He listened and met the Priestess’s eyes.
"Remember? This is the polarization that formed when [AMa-10] was born. You said you found a melody in the waveform of that polarization. Of course, I added a bit of my own 'composition' here."
The Priestess touched her flushed cheek and continued:
"I adjusted the orientation of the primary planetary orbit array to capture different echoes. I extracted the harmony from the neutrino aftermath of a star's collapse, and the instrument is the gravitational fold left by the ship passing through the Stargate."
She turned to see his joyous expression, but seeing only cold eyes and a set mouth, her voice faded.
"Ah... I thought you'd like it. I'm sorry, Doctor."
The Doctor offered comfort to the one who had been so radiant:
"The song of the universe... even now, in this moment, it's still moving."
Though she knew his words were not mere praise, the Priestess found a bit of strength and, as always, let herself be swept away by the pleasant sentiment.
"But doing this could break the rules we set ourselves. Priestess, these installations were supposed to operate forever along their predetermined trajectories."
The Priestess calmly took his hand in hers in response to the Doctor’s words.
"The stars have lost their light; in this world, the rules are already gone. Isn't that so? This place will soon grow silent, as if we never even came."
The Doctor said nothing.
"Let's take a walk before it falls silent."
They paced the deck as though it were a grand hall. As they walked, the Priestess slowed her steps, and, in a shy confession, whispered to the Doctor:
"Doctor, I want us to witness the future of this world together. So, will you keep waiting? Until I find you again at the end of time."
The genius remembered her companion and held a smile.
May her companion’s journey not be beset entirely by hardship.
May her companion’s waiting be not hollow but filled with joy.
May her companion’s sorrow not end in mere sadness.
May her companion’s…
…find a place within the long dream that is just beginning.
She simply hoped he would remain by her side.
Rhodes Island moved according to its intended purpose, and the sky shifted rapidly.
…Look.
That is the fractured glow of the transfer gate. It split the sky like a flame without fire. It would linger for centuries before vanishing without a trace.
The stars receded from us, drifting away like leaves in the night.
The vessel Thalos II arrived at this shattered ruin.
It is life.
And now, it is the thing we will lose above all else.
I captured in my gaze the scattering form of those minute polarizations and luminous flares, lest I forget them. The Stargate lured the ancient light of remote cosmos into the present.
While I inscribed the sky upon my eyes from the deck, others, too, strove to remember one another’s final moments in their farewells and greetings.
The Priestess clasped the Doctor’s frail hand, still within the sarcophagus, in both of hers and spoke:
"…Doctor..."
"I never imagined I wouldn't want to let you go so badly. But I have to. Only then can I save you."
"Oh, Doctor… at this rate, we may never meet again."
She steeled her resolve amid sorrow.
"No, it can’t end like this. I will never give up."
"Doctor, I believe our connection will last beyond time and space."
"Even if the seas boil over, the atmosphere disappears, the moon plunges beyond the singularity, and the sun expands to devour all its children leaving nothing behind... We will meet again when darkness and starlight crown this civilization’s end."
"Until that day, I will wait for you. No matter what happens, I will wait. So you, too—you must wait for me. Doctor, do not forget me."
The genius was now certain.
Certainty transformed into belief, and belief into faith.
Faith became a mind with immense strength.
While the Doctor slept, I found a journal in his quarters. The worn analog pages were densely packed with lines written meticulously in a fountain pen.
I tucked the journal away and left the room.
The Priestess, glancing at the Doctor’s sleeping form, began the Originium voyage without even bidding us farewell.
When the Doctor awoke and called out to her again.
She gave no warmth in return.
I carefully handed the journal back to the Doctor. Without a word, he wrote only three sentences and returned it to me. Those words carried a temperature of terror he would never feel again.
The Doctor spoke to his Senior with a firm tone:
"I broke my promise. I betrayed her, the one waiting for me in time."
The Doctor grasped the Senior’s shoulders as if to press them down and said:
"Because I love. I love life, I love being. Love is eternal purity—eternal purity that halts my thoughts."
The Doctor, wearing his familiar smile, said:
"Kal'tsit, learn to love, learn to believe. You must think, you must lead, you must confront the boulders ripping down the slope in your terrified descent. But... in the end... I believe you will learn to love. It is eternal purity, the living child, it is both your and my nature."
…
"Go, Kal'tsit. Go, look around, find the farther mountains, seek the forms of existence… I must return now. She taught me everything and I have fervently explored it all. But she has changed, and will not give this wayward soul much time… until we meet again. We will meet again."
"Kal'tsit. Find yourself."
After Kal'tsit received her name and freedom, and while the Doctor lay once more in his sarcophagus.
I faced the Priestess.
"You look like you have countless questions."
"Your desire is so resolute and vivid that it's more like a complex blueprint than a dream."
"Pleasant words to hear, though not exactly joyous."
"I know it's pointless to ask, but will you really go through with it?"
"Yes. If we have no tomorrow, if a new civilization must arise."
The Priestess spoke calmly, yet with madness in her tone.
"Dismantle it, then rebuild it—doesn't that solve everything?"
…
"Originium will record civilization and use its failures as fertilizer to grow. It will nurture and shatter civilizations and yet flourish through both."
As she set out once more into the Originium voyage, she said:
This is a necessary choice.
"Tell no one."
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