CH1485 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1485: Jump

Nightingale touched her own chest — felt the hammering there — then yanked her hand back as if the heartbeat embarrassed her. She flicked Anna’s forehead with two fingers.

“Next time, find a safe place to think. Now explain it. Simply.”

By then Phyllis and the others had closed around them, reading the situation in an instant. The collective exhale was audible.

Anna pressed her palm to her forehead. Her voice, when it came, was small and unsteady. “Jump down.”

Nightingale stared at her. She waited long enough to be sure she hadn’t misheard, then sighed. “Take that back. Start from the beginning.”

“It’s not difficult to explain.” Anna turned to look at the Bottomless Land — the black aperture at the island’s center, featureless and absolute. “Lan knew the rule. She’s an Oracle; she comes from the Realm of Mind. Whatever else she lied about, she could not have forgotten the most basic problem after going to all this trouble.”

“So Roland can’t open the column of light himself?”

“No — and the column probably doesn’t lead where we need to go anyway.” Anna shook her head. “Only the victor of the Battle of Divine Will crosses that bridge. We aren’t victors. We have no other legacy shards. And Lan never mentioned the bridge from the start. If recovering every shard to end the Battle were a critical step, it would be contradictory on its face. She would have said so.”

Nightingale’s brow furrowed. “Then where?”

Anna recited the words exactly as they’d been spoken. “‘The truth is always what you understand.’ If she predicted that God would block her from giving critical information directly, the astrolabe scenes become suspect. Think back: which scene left the deepest impression on you?”

A pause. “Something about gravity?”

“Yes. In the second scene Roland witnessed, the core that forms this world sits at the planet’s center.” Anna’s finger pointed toward the sinkhole. “Not up. Down. The Bottomless Land looks unreachable, but—” she paused there deliberately, the way a teacher does before writing on the board— “‘Gravity is no longer the force which is most deserving of reverence in this world.’”

“Wait.” Phyllis had been working through it. The moment the meaning landed, her expression changed. “You can’t be serious. That’s absurd. If it were safe, someone would have reached the bottom. The Radiation People built towers to try. They built staircases. The murals show everything — and they abandoned the attempt. There’s a reason.”

“Going down and coming back up are two different problems.” Anna’s voice was patient, unhurried, as though she had already rehearsed this argument with herself. “This is probably what the Guardian actually means by ‘the person who has the strength.’ There is no barrier on the descent. But without the bridge of light, anyone who reaches the bottom cannot return to the surface.”

The silence that followed had weight to it. Even the island’s perpetual wind seemed to draw back.

“No limit going down,” Nightingale said slowly. “The bridge of light required to come up.”

“Yes. And there’s something else.” Anna’s gaze moved across all of them, though she was really looking past them — at the reasoning as she had worked it through, each step checking the next. “It was only after speaking with the Guardian that I was able to confirm this. Or rather: it’s the only explanation for why Lan never mentioned a Guardian at all. Because what Roland needs to do has nothing to do with a Guardian. It never did.”

“So you plan to throw Roland into a sinkhole.” Sky Lord’s expression did something complicated.

“I’m going with him.” The words were simple and final. “You will handle the retreat. All of you — there is no need to stay. Return to the floating island as quickly as possible.”

No one spoke.

They all knew her well enough. Once Anna had decided, not even Roland himself had ever moved her. The silence was its own kind of answer.

Hackzord studied them for a moment, then nodded once. He reached up and opened a Distortion Door directly above the sinkhole — the black aperture inside a black aperture. “Young lady,” he said. “What your race has accomplished here is enough. Even failure carries a measure of glory.”

Anna summoned her Blackfire, and the unconscious Roland rose from the ground — held aloft by that cold dark flame, perfectly still. She walked through the door.

Nightingale was simply gone from her spot. No announcement, no hesitation. By the time anyone registered the movement, she had already stepped through.

The last person to cross was Silent Disaster.

Hackzord frowned. “You too?”

Serakkas didn’t turn around. “I said I would accompany them to the Bottomless Land.” One step through the threshold. “Wherever it is.”


When light returned to darkness and the darkness was complete, Roland heard a voice.

It came from no direction. It came from everywhere.

“Where people come from and where they head to has always been a profound and interesting question.”

He turned. A figure — gray, hazy, shaped like a suggestion of a person — glowed faintly in the void. It was the only light in all that blackness. A beacon, or what passed for one.

“Discussed for ten thousand years. Every generation answered differently. Yet regardless of the answer, it was filled with wisdom — a guide toward continuous progress, toward probing the unknown.

“But after ten thousand years, the question changed. It turned meaningless. In the tens of thousands of years that followed, no one asked where they came from or where they were going. Because the answer became clear. Vanishing is the eternal point of refuge.”

The figure released something like a sigh.

“This world was never specially prepared for life.

“From the moment it appeared six quadrillion years ago, the stars have been in decline — burning toward their ends, becoming dwarf stars, becoming black holes. The universe turns dark.

“Under gravity’s guidance, dwarf stars can reignite when they collide to become new stars. But that is only a final brilliance. An oasis in a desert.

“A powerful civilization occupies a lit oasis. The others survive on aging dwarf stars, draining them until the last of it is gone. This is the scene two octillion years from now.

“Gravity becomes the universe’s only ruler. Dead stars fall into black holes. The radiation of that absorption produces the most blinding light, brighter even than any star — and that will be the only source of energy remaining.”

The gray figure’s voice grew heavier with each sentence, as if reciting something memorized from grief.

“Further still. At ten decillion years, the dwarf stars evaporate. The universe holds no material planets, no matter at all. Energy spreads uniformly to every corner. Every point in the universe is dead. Darkness, cold, emptiness — that is its everything. Yet compared to the universe’s full span, this is equivalent to a newborn.

“What follows is a longer adolescence, adulthood, and old age. But that period of time is meaningless, because no life is part of it. Our existence is but an extremely brief instant — a manifestation of anomaly, the outcome of a correction the universe requires.”

The light inside the figure dimmed. Weakened. As though the telling of it had cost something real.

”…We will not be able to go anywhere.”

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