A dim blue glow roused Proto from his sleep. He felt that he was in bed beneath the sheets.

  His bleary eyes couldn’t discern anything at first. But one thing was clear—the light was streaming in from windows, not glowstrips on the wall.

  Dreamy and whimsical music was wafting from somewhere. It’d been a long time since he’d awoken to such wistful and melodic strains. The last time had been in his old room back home, back before . . .

  Oh, no! Am I in a time loop?!

  Rubbing his eyes and squinting all around him, however, he quickly concluded that he wasn’t in his old room and, indeed, wasn’t in a time loop.

  First, the vaulted ceiling was at least twice as high as in Proto’s old room.

  Second, the windows were arched, had ornately wrought bars, and had blood-red drapes.

  Third, the dreamy music in the background was not a 16-bit composition, but some classical piece by Debussy. He’d heard it on Westworld and liked it. Reverie, was it?

  It occurred to Proto that he might’ve been sleepwalking again. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d woken up in the wrong house. In fact, it wouldn’t even be the second time, if you counted when he woke up in the bathroom at one of Yemos’ parties.

  Anxiously, he sat up—and promptly saw that whitish wisps were curling and drifting over the ground, half-hiding the marble floor beneath.

  He took a deep breath and let it out. I’m dreaming.

  He realized he was holding something in his hand, but it wasn’t a plastic game controller. It was a dark red rock.

  “Been a while, my small red friend,” he mused to the familiar palm-sized stone, so dull it seemed to absorb the room’s glow.

  Indeed, it had been a while. He pondered his days at Somnus’ Palace as a provisional visitor, and his days since then. A smile formed on his face, as it often did, when he woke and realized that his dream life wasn’t just a dream.

  Maybe there’s no such thing as Happily Ever After. No one’s always happy forever, right? But Proto sure had come close to it, together with . . . mm.

  Warmth welled inside him as he pictured her, recalling everything they’d done yesterday, and yesternight, and all the many days and nights they’d shared since Proto’s Evaluation Day.

  “I’ve dealt you a hard hand in life, Proto. To make up for that, I’ve also gone to great lengths to give you a chance at true love,” Flua-Sahng had said. “You’ll have a chance to choose your happy ending, Proto. I’ll see to that.”

  He had to admit it—she’d more than kept her end of the bargain.

  Until now, he mused grimly, eying the red tapestries hanging over the white walls, and his white quilt with red sheets beneath, and the white ceiling with red gilding, and the white door with a red knob.

  The aesthetics of this place were awfully familiar, weren’t they?

  A polite double knock came at the door.

  Yes, when it came to people who might summon Proto to a dream in a lavish palace decorated white and red, and then knock on his door at precisely the moment he thought of her, there really weren’t many options, were there?

  He frowned at the sky through the window. Did you forget the “ending” part of “happy ending”?

  “I heard that!” came a sweet and queenly voice from outside. “There’s a good explanation, I promise. It involves the past tense and future tense, and the technical definition of an ‘ending.’”

  “First’s name,” grumbled Proto.

  “How dare you take my husband’s name in vain against me,” she complained from outside. “First’s name!”

  Laughing quietly, he rose and looked himself over. No need to change—he was wearing his tracksuit already.

  Since he could dream himself into looking well-groomed, he supposed he didn’t need to shave, comb his hair, or brush his teeth. But he considered going through his morning routine anyway, just to convey how he felt about being rudely shanghaied from his happy ending.

  “I assure you, you’ve already conveyed that!” came her voice from outside. “Among other things. For example, you conveyed what you were thinking about in math class, while ignoring your teacher and sitting behind Karen Black. Thinking or, should I say, picturing. It wasn’t algebra, but certainly involved some geometry.”

  “Sheesh, you’re creepy!” he grumped.

  “‘The only value in this valueless world is what you share with someone when you’re creepy,’” she cheerfully replied. “Some creep told me that. Or, at least, he conveyed it to me.”

  “And you think I’d let you in my room?!” he said.

  “No, I was just being polite,” came Flua-Sahng’s voice from right behind him.

  Startled, he spun around. And there she was, radiant and star-leaved and redheaded as ever.

  “What, did you think the Queen of Heaven and Mother of All, who ringed the Ringed One and Ordered Chaos, would be thwarted by a door?” she questioned. “In her own palace?”

  “No, just by fear of finding me unclothed or giving me a heart attack,” he muttered.

  “Oh, Proto, when have I ever been concerned about such things?” She beamed. “As you well know, I saw all of your ancestors—”

  “Without diapers, I know,” he grumbled.

  “And more!” she noted. “For example, people often forget that every single one of their ancestors, back to the first bacterium, bore offspring at some point. Well, I don’t forget that. Because I saw every single—”

  “I get the point!” he exclaimed.

  “Have I embarrassed you sufficiently?” She smiled. “Yes, I think so. Good. I felt it was important that we start on the right note. This is The Beginning, after all.”

  “Sure could’ve fooled me,” he replied. “I was pretty sure, based on what you explicitly told me on many occasions, that I’d reached a Happy Ending!”

  “I admit, you are pretty sure of that,” she replied. “And, yes, you do remember me promising you a happy ending. I always keep my promises.”

  “Wait for it . . . ” he muttered.

  “But—” she began.

  “There it is!” he declared, slapping the bed.

  “Ahem. As I said, I keep my promises, especially those involving happy endings,” she repeated. “But . . . you’re not at your happy ending yet.”

  Proto sighed. “Is this where I get called out of retirement to go on ‘one last mission’? Because, in this world of almost ten billion people, there’s only one who can be trusted to do the bidding of Her Majesty Queen Flua-Sahng, and it’s the A/B tester in the tracksuit?”

  “I have a question, Proto,” she replied. “Remember that lovely day when you met Red Fyrst at Starbucks, and re-met Karen Black at Black’s Rock? You wore your blazer that day. But upon returning home, carried away with giddiness, you changed into your tracksuit.”

  “Then, you reached into your tracksuit pocket,” she recounted. “And you found a certain red rock there, belonging to a certain seer named Mercune. You couldn’t think of any possible explanation for it. You decided to sleep on it. But when you woke up, you found that the rock was gone. And you couldn’t think of any explanation for that either!”

  “Do you think that was important?” she asked sweetly.

  Proto stared at her.

  One time, he’d spent weeks farming mobs in an RPG, mastering all his skills, romancing all the romance options, and completing all the quests, except one that he couldn’t figure out. He’d finally advanced toward what he thought was the final battle—only to find out he was just leaving the newbie area, and that’s why he hadn’t been able to complete that last quest.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  He felt like that right now, times a million.

  “As I said,” she smiled, “don’t worry, you’ll get your happy ending. But first, look in the mirror, Proto.”

  He eyed her uncertainly, then turned toward an ornate full-length Rococo mirror, almost grimacing with anticipation.

  Instead, he was pleasantly surprised. He saw a young, healthy and fresh-faced fellow with a runner’s build. He felt proud, as he often did, that he’d kept his lithe musculature from daily high school sports. Not bad, if I do say so myself. If perhaps somewhat thinner than is altogether necessary. Indeed, he didn’t look a day older than he had at nineteen, fresh out of high school.

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.” He scanned himself again in the mirror, checking for a sixth finger or a monkey tail or something. “If you’re suggesting no happy ending could involve me wearing a tracksuit day and night, I suggest you think again!”

  “Oh, on the contrary—they all do,” she grimly confirmed. “Whether I like it not. Alas, no, I’m not here to cast rightful aspersion on your manboy-next-door getup. At least, that’s not my primary purpose.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” he grumbled.

  Flua-Sahng’s lips curved up. “Let me ask you a question, Proto. When did your life get boring?”

  He frowned. “You’re on a roll, huh. Um, roughly when I swore off relationships and threw myself into my studies, ultimately leading to a major in statistics and a middle-class white-collar job in the A/B testing department of a regional marketing company, without any terribly significant memories during the ensuing eight years, I guess.”

  “You guess?” she repeated. “Well, guess again. I’m here to tell you that your life wasn’t boring. Or, more precisely”—she winced a smile out—“won’t be boring.”

  Proto stared at her again.

  “Yesterday, you broke up with Karen Black,” she said. “I should mention—she deserved it. I’m on Team Proto. You were entirely in the right! On the other hand, if we always did what we had a right to do, true love wouldn’t stand a chance! So, take that as you will.”

  At his lack of a response, she tilted her head. “Hm? You look mildly traumatized, Proto. Did my philosophy of right and love traumatize you?”

  “No, the word ‘yesterday’ traumatized me!” he exclaimed. “I’m going to assume you meant ‘yesteryear’ and misspoke.”

  “I admit, I do often get my past, present and future wrong,” she allowed, nodding agreeably. “But today, I’m afraid ‘yesterday’ really did mean yesterday.” Her lips quirked sympathetically. “I . . . might’ve maybe shown you a vision, Proto.”

  He felt his heart sinking.

  “To be sure, you remember ages nineteen to 29.5 and beyond,” she continued. “But . . . you maybe might not have actually experienced those years yet. Not in the real world. And not even in the dream world. Just in a vision.”

  He stared at her a moment, sorting this out. “You’re telling me I was having a dream within a dream? Within another dream?”

  “Technically, I think you mean a dream within a vision within a vision,” she pointed out. “At worst! But, well, yes.”

  He closed his eyes and fell back upon his bed.

  “Oh, please don’t feel bad!” she urged. “It’s not like last time. I didn’t show you a vision of a bad future that might happen, this time. I showed you a vision of the good and true future that will be! You will have your happy ending!”

  He leaned up and met her gaze.

  She winced another smile out. “If . . . ”

  Proto’s head plopped back. “Yep, there it is! If what? If I get hit by ten more cars? If I convince Mercune to be a seer, doer, and visitor, while juggling ten red rocks and eating a curried-chicken-on-milk-bread sandwich? If I Order Chaos and ring the Ringed One, while simultaneously taking Black and Red out to a whisky tasting at Lilac’s bar, thereby unlocking a Possibility that involves all three?” he suggested. “Nah, too easy. I’ll only get to keep my happy ending if—”

  “If you become an action hero who roves the streets at night in a cool costume, disposing of mankind’s foes with melee prowess, while speaking cool slogans and inspiring wonder in the hearts of adventurous youngsters?” she drily interrupted. “Would that be puerile and boisterous enough for you? Would that be Marvel-ous enough? Would that make it worth your while to save the world? Would that make this okay, Proto?”

  He rolled his eyes. “When it comes to ‘things that might make it okay to take away my promised happy ending for ten years, if not forever,’ that might be mildly okay.”

  Flua-Sahng beamed. “Well, have I got mildly okay news for you!”

  Proto blinked and stared.

  “Follow me!” she sang.

  And so he did. She led him down a white-walled hallway decorated with red tapestries.

  “I’m sure you’ve been thinking, Proto,” she mused as they strolled, “that your week with me, Red, Black, Mercune, and the rest was a rather lovey-dovey affair, compared to your odysseys and adventures at Somnus’ Palace.”

  “No need to deny it!” she went on, raising a palm as he opened his mouth. “No, I see it in your eyes. You’re like a man at forty-five, who drives by the Corvette dealership and feels a sudden, strange hearkening, and wonders, What is this feeling that I feel? This, I must have. You have his eyes, Proto. Except you don’t want a red sports car, and you’re not forty-five. You want adventure, and you’re nineteen.”

  “Nineteen?!” Proto reeled as he considered the implications. “Wait, you meant that thing about Karen Black literally? Yesterday?!”

  “I’m afraid so, Proto.” Flua-Sahng winced another smile out. “You’re nineteen, and you’ve just begun an early-life crisis. But you don’t have money to spend frivolously, in a vain attempt to buy back your years lost forever. Indeed, you’ve already gotten back your lost years!”

  “Instead, you’re going to spend that time saving Time,” she concluded.

  He blinked and shook his head. “Wasn’t that the idea when I saved the world and the future?”

  “This is a bit different, Proto. Hm. How to put it?” The Queen of Heaven mused a moment. “We’re on the right Fate Road now. But it’s covered in potholes, traffic jams, speed traps, inadequately marked detours, and—well, you get the picture. Hm, will be covered? Would be covered? Whatever it is, you’re here to fix it.”

  “So, that’s how this is going to go?” he replied. “Visitor, then seer, then road repair worker?”

  “Precisely!” She beamed. “Except, technically, you’ve got the timing backward.”

  “Sorry, I get my tenses mixed up,” he said.

  “Oh, I get it, believe you me!” she assured him. “But yes, this is all about Time. We’re in the right timeline now—or at least, the timeline that would be right, if you proceeded to save the world and the future. But you won’t, because there’s a problem with Time. Won’t? Wouldn’t? Mm.”

  “In short, Proto, it’s time for you to save Time,” she concluded cheerfully. “And then, that’s it! Seriously. Last time. Happy ending.”

  “Happy me,” he groused.

  “Oh, you’ll be just fine and dandy, you’ll see,” she assured him. “Tubular, even.”

  As they walked, he observed that each red tapestry depicted what appeared to be a giant teardrop. Within each teardrop was a scene—for example, a man with long silvery hair and a midnight blue cloak, hovering above a dark plateau with a shining orb in hand; a blonde-haired woman who looked strangely like Ausrine, hunched beneath a snowy birch tree beside two glowing, star-shaped rocks; even a man with a blazing sword held high, standing on a flying bone dragon’s head.

  “Will I be doing anything that cool?” Proto thumbed at the soaring swordsman.

  “Let keep our aspirations down to Earth, shall we?” she replied.

  “Yeah, that’s the moral of this story, isn’t it?” he sighed.

  She smiled and patted him on the hand. “We love you for who you are, Proto.”

  They soon arrived in the vaulted chamber with two huge stained-glass windows, where the Queen of Heaven had summoned Proto after one of Mercune’s dreams. But rather than stop here, they continued on through another corridor.

  “How’s Mercune doing?” he asked absently. “Things still swell for the Daughter of Life?”

  “‘Still’ is a strange way of putting it,” noted the Queen of Heaven. “Since you won’t even meet her until ten years from now.”

  “But yes, she’s doing swell. Generally frolicking about, vexing ‘Gramps,’ and having friends over weekly to eat ice cream and watch Disney movies,” she said. “Some things never change.”

  “Chilling with Ausrine sometimes?” asked Proto.

  “Indeed! Why, just yesterday, Ausrine was cooking for her and Mercune was mixing the spices. She’s a natural. I wonder where she gets it from?” Flua-Sahng fanned her face.

  “Must be Fyrir,” he replied.

  “Pah! All she got from that licentious wrinkle is a talent for physics,” scoffed Flua-Sahng. “For that, I claim no credit.

  “Anyhow, yes, she’s well on her way toward becoming a seer, going to Wraithing Research Center, surviving the Pandaemonium, and speaking her world-altering prophecy there, thanks to what you’ve done,” she went on. “Will do? Are doing? Mm.”

  “To think!” mused Proto. “I only gave her that red rock on a whim at the last second.”

  “And so the world was saved. Indeed!” replied Flua-Sahng. “‘Sometimes, you chase Lady Luck. And sometimes, Lady Luck chases you.’ As my son likes to say.”

  She shook her head reprovingly. “That pair! Like the seasons, those two. Going hot and cold and hot and cold for aeons!”

  Turning into another hallway, they arrived at another broad chamber. At its center was what looked to be a dueling ring. High above it shone a huge skylight. The sun’s glow glinted on what looked to be a sword rack, which was full of . . . what?

  He blinked and squinted. Cane-swords?

  The Queen of Heaven had stopped beside the ring and was regarding their surroundings with satisfaction.

  “This is . . . an interesting room.” Proto eyed a teardrop-shaped archway with what looked like rippling waters inside, standing across the chamber. On the wall nearby was a cuckoo clock that looked like a miniature palace. “Any reason we’re here?”

  “Well, it’s not for me, I’ll tell you that,” she answered. “The day I wield a blade bigger than a chef’s knife is the day I prefer Rings of Power Galadriel over Lord of the Rings Galadriel. Hell will freeze over first. Indeed, I literally can make Hell freeze over; much like her. Why in Hell would I wield a sword?”

  “I take it those cane-swords are for someone considerably less powerful,” he observed.

  “You catch on quickly.” She patted his arm, then felt his bicep. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Your muscle’s rather hard. Hard like a high school runner’s arm, perhaps. But at least now you have the excuse that you actually were in high school a few months ago.”

  “Is there some reason we’re standing beside a dueling ring and commenting on my musculature?” he questioned.

  Flua-Sahng giggled. “Yes! There’s always a reason, Proto. You should know that by now.”

  He nodded grimly. “So. That guy in the tapestry earlier gets a sun-sword. And I get a cane-sword?”

  “He gets a star-sword, not a sun-sword,” she corrected. “Otherwise, yes. I’ll pretend that was a serious question and not a rude, rhetorical one, aimed at conveying your ingratitude about being the sword-wielding hero in the wrong story!”

  “Touché,” he allowed. “So. I take it you’re not going to tell me why I’ll be wielding a cane-sword, in a civilized Western country in the 21st century?”

  “You know me well.” She beamed.

  “And I take it I’ll have to spend countless hours practicing, not knowing why I’m doing so?” he continued.

  “You know me well,” she repeated happily. “So countless! Eight years, to be precise.”

  “Sheesh! Welcome to the Hyperbolic Time Chamber!” he muttered. “Well, at least I get to relive my youth, as I await my happy ending.”

  “About that.” She winced a smile out.