A simple existence, a being of light, made itself known between the fabric of collapsing eons. It was raveled in verdant specks of radiant energy.

  Questions. Piercing, slashing, thundering questions slipped out of the nothingness and wholeness making up the unfathomable space.

  Where was I? What was I? What was I doing? What am I?

  Language. Words. All had left the being of light.

  All, except… color. That’s right. It was that same verdant color. There, at the end of all things. The true end of all things. The end of time. The end of space. There was truly nothing left. The world had died.

  But… I’m still here. Why am I still here?

  The being had wandered the colorless plane for longer and shorter than time could allow. For, again, it had lost all meaning anyway. There was no sense in it. No point in quantifying what could not be quantified.

  But… still. I want to know. I want to understand. Even if it cannot be fully understood, I am… curious. I want to know. I need to know.

  A concept. A light in the unseen mind. A being of green. The color green.

  Green. Is that my name? It sounds familiar, but it does not sound like a name. Though, anything could be a name. A name is but an invisible tag denoting the existence of an object. It does not matter what the name is made up of. What letters inscribe its meaning.

  Green roamed the white plane, and the plane came into view as it moved. Everything was a warped reflection of something. There were tiny blades on the ground, large trunks extending from the floor, and small items hanging from them.

  This is… grass. And trees.

  Green stood amidst the forest of pale trees on the white world. Everything from the ground it stood upon to the leaves rustling above were completely drained of their color. It looked up, though it had no eyes. It perceived what could only be described as ‘up’.

  Is this… the world? Then those things, those orbs, where are they? They’re gone. There’s nothing up there. Nothing anywhere. Nothing…

  There was something. Black. The absence of color, or perhaps every color melded into one. It was made up of black dots. It did not resemble Green in any way. It was very different.

  Can I… speak to it? How am I to understand the darkness before me? How am I to speak with no mouth?

  “Color,” the thing said. It was another language. Or the absence of language. It sounded like music.

  Green tried to reply. “Color? Green.”

  The dark thing moved what could only represent its head in a fashion that could be perceived as the action of nodding. “I found you.” A beautiful song.

  “You. Know. Me?”

  Black shook its ‘head’. “You knew me.”

  I don’t understand.

  “Follow.”

  Green followed Black. The colors danced along the white canvas, their dots leaving light trails behind them as they paved their way through the unknowable. The unfinished. The destroyed. The desolate.

  “Where? Going?”

  “To the Throne. The Throne of the World, below all things. It sits beyond existence. Between the folds and atop the Planar Lenses.”

  I don’t understand.

  Black led Green across wastelands, across burnt ruins, across fantastical cities with architecture unseen in wildest dreams (all bathed in white, of course). Their respective colors painted the world as they moved still, leaving their mark on it as they passed through. Eventually, after what felt like both a short time and a long time, they found an immense set of two doors they could only guess were once made of a very strong metal. Doors to hell or to heaven, Green thought, though to which didn’t really matter in the end.

  Black knocked on the doors nine times, and after a couple of seconds, thirteen knocks knocked back on the other side. Afterwards, the doors opened with a loud screech. Their towering fronts had carved images on them, but Green couldn’t make them out entirely.

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  Beyond the doors was a great throne. “The Throne of the World,” Black repeated. It was made of glass. In fact, everything else was made of glass. It was in a large, open chamber opposite to them. The walkway leading to it was glass. The walls making up the innards of the structure were glass. Green could see everything and nothing in the confounding construction of the place. It was truly baffling as to why such a place would be created in such a way.

  But the glass reflected things. People. Places. Colors. Endless arrays of colors and light. If Green had eyes, they would have blinded it. Faces. Creatures. Fauna. Flora. All could be seen in the reflection, in the translucent lenses, and yet nothing could be seen; for it all was a jumbled mess without an orchestrator. Without one to sit upon the Throne.

  “Lay claim to it, and you shall focus the light with your compassion. Though, as light can also be claimed by darkness, so too can you reflect the light into nothing at all. It is by your decree. Your choice. Whatever wish burns true within you shall shine through to the world. You must only choose. Choose which to favor, and which to smother. Which one to fuel, and which one to burn.”

  As the abstract colors walked along the walkway, flickering possibilities burned and fueled them. Infinite colors splashed across their pointillist bodies, bringing forth new guises. Many differed and were strange, having come from a place of immaturity or lack of any true worldview. But finally, those colors changed into recognizable forms. A male and a female. A black dragon and a human girl with wispy, verdant hair.

  She sat upon the Throne of the World. Her mind became that of glass. Innumerable, shimmering colors beamed through her brain and brought her to new heights of thought. New understanding. Forbidden knowledge. Bright futures and dark pasts. Until one thing flickered past, and she went back and thought about it. The thought became reality. A single image.

  A star. A brightly shining azure star shooting through the darkness, undeterred by the endless void. Glimmering stardust flew from its trail. It fought and fought, burning brightly in that void and moving all the same. Though, eventually, the shooting star came to a stop. It expanded, glowed with energy, then did two things simultaneously.

  It either imploded, creating a black hole, an unknowable tear in reality that ate everything including light. Or, it exploded, going supernova and causing more destruction over a shorter amount of time.

  “You must choose, little one.” The black dragon stared at Ceres with a stern expression. It was as though all of his lifetimes were condensed into one personality. He was gruff and resolute, yet he held the kindness of his last iteration still. “This star, too, must follow suit. The people of this star have been poisoned by a parasite. We must begin anew.”

  Ceres deliberated, then spoke. “No, that is just what Ymiris wanted. I can’t do that. The people up there… they don’t deserve such a thing.”

  And then Ceres could hear something. Voices. A choir? A choir of voices were ringing in her ears. Where was it coming from?

  “Singing?” Nakir questioned and his face fell, but then it rose with a comfortable warmth. “Singing. They are singing to you, Ceres. Music is the oldest magic there is, as they say. Why it moves you humans so, I will never quite understand. But I do know the implications…”

  Endless souls trapped in the in-between sung high and low for the girl on the Throne. Ceres laughed gleefully. “A second chance. That is what they deserve. You of all beings can understand, I’m sure.”

  Nakir cackled with laughter too. “Second chances. Are you sure this won’t go to their heads?”

  “They will know it is also their last chance. Although, I have a feeling that this time will be different.”

  “How so?”

  “I can feel a certain… warmth in all of them. In their songs. The world, I feel, has become a bit… kinder than it was.”

  “Is that so?”

  “So it is. But, Nakir, what is to become of us? Of those left behind? What about Nia and your sister?”

  Nakir lowered and raised his head as he spoke of good news and bad news. “Arkiel is alive and well, singing amongst the many. Nia, I am afraid, has joined her mother in Blissful Sleep.”

  “Do not be afraid, Nakir. Is that not what she wanted all this time?”

  “Perhaps. I think she was the one who was afraid, little one. Unlike you, she could not accept her loved one’s death. It was akin to the end of the world for her. So much so, that the end of the world did not scare her at all. Even to the end of her life.”

  “I see. And us?”

  “We shall sit at the root of the world. We shall become one with the Throne, as many others have. We will observe. We will wait. There will be a time when we must pass on as well.”

  “Mhm. And the others?”

  “Yes, they are well and good. You sit upon the Throne, my girl. Do what you can to send them on their way. Do what you can to guide them to better lives. To hopefulness. Give them their second chances.”

  “And we shall become one with the Throne? Are you not… scared?”

  “As I said, my dear, everything must come to an end. One day, we will join those in Blissful Sleep. And some will move on and return when the cycle begins anew. When the Circle burns true again. When neighbors alike are reborn and find each other in new forms. When new trees with kind leaves grow atop their ancestors who have been burned in flames of wrath. The ever-turning wheel will revolve just as the moon does, Ceres. But it is nothing to be scared of. It is something more beautiful than we can describe… and I believe that is more powerful than having any words for it at all. That is when music and songs can step in and voice our emotions on the subject better than any language can enunciate. Isn’t it simply grand?”

  Ceres smiled and closed her eyes. “Yes, it is.” She giggled. “Truly grand.”

  “One cannot hope to see beauty through eyes of hatred,” Nakir continued. “For hatred outlives the hateful.”

  Ceres nodded, and as she did, the Throne of the World gently lifted from its place. She floated with it, her arms spanned at her sides. The Throne melded into an orb of pearlescence and let out a bright, white light. It enveloped everything and reflected endlessly across the mirrored lenses. Color drenched every inch of the world, splattering it with endless possibilities, painting it anew.

  Within the colorful rapture, one could still hear Nakir faintly say: “And in every world, bloodshed and chaos may reign supreme. But even underneath a blood-red sky, if kindness is allowed to bloom, there is always that distant, giggling, shining hope.”