Archive of Our Own ^beta

To breathe is to be in pain.

Scaramouche glances at his pocket watch. It’s a family heirloom, with a gold chain that dangles off his palm. He doesn’t note the time but simply watches the hands tick round and round.

The vastness of space surrounds him, and it has no end. It ripples beneath him as if the stars and planets were merely a blanket laid on the ground for him to walk through. Each thread weaved into the fabric is a universe; not too different from its neighbor but different enough that each universe is shaped into something new.

He takes a step and the ground creases with the force- a universe destroyed and a universe created. Thus, is the nature of things.

The shadows of space trail him wherever he goes, the darkness unrelenting. There is no sun, for the lord of all universes, is the lord of that too.

So Scaramouche closes his eyes and when he opens them again a shade of pink fills his view. The blobs of color sway in his vision before morphing into sakura. Some of the blossoms hang on for dear life, while others have long retired, chasing the breeze of the wind instead. He finds himself resting amongst the foliage, nesting on top of the bowing branches.

“Young master, I’ve been searching for you.”

Scaramouche looks down, and of course, he’s been found again, “Go away.”

The samurai is unwavering. He does not shift even an inch as he kneels at the base of the tree, “Your father instructed me to accompany you.”

In this universe, Scaramouche finds himself to be the son of a lord. This universe is one of his favorites, one where he is weaved into the fabric of reality without any responsibilities. He can eat the sweetest fruits, harass the fish in the koi pond, and reminisce in cherry trees. This is a rare occurrence though, for the lord of the universe carries an eternal duty.

However, if only for a moment, he will enjoy his peace.

There is a slight annoyance in this universe though.

“I don’t need your company,” Scaramouche tells the samurai. Kazuha is his name if he recalls correctly. It’s one of the few that have stuck to Scaramouche, as no one else has such a striking red streak tousled amongst pale-white hair.

Kazuha sighs, not out of discontent but acceptance instead. Scaramouche has denied such a request enough times for him to know his reply. A dance has formed between them, where one pulls and the other pushes.

From the corner of his eyes, Scaramouche can see that Kazuha has moved to observe the koi pond by himself, inspecting the glistening surface.

When Scaramouche first entered this universe, he materialized as a young boy to match the age of Kazuha. He has no say in this, as each universe chooses how it wants to weave him in so tightly, it is as if he was part of it in the first place. Back then, it was easier for Scaramouche to avoid him too, for Kazuha was too timid to even stand close to him, much less talk to him.

The next time Scaramouche entered, he manifested as a teenager. Even though he’d been gone for much of the universe’s lifespan, he reappeared as if he had never left. The universe churned a story out for him, once again weaving him back in.

This time though, Kazuha had also grown up and the universe deluded him into believing he had done so with Scaramouche, overcoming their childhood days together. Kazuha became more confident and was willing to chase Scaramouche, much to Scaramouche’s dismay.

Alas, his restful days seemed to be fleeting away. A different universe is in order, Scaramouche thinks.

“Young master!” Kazuha yells, “Look what I’ve found!”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes, but curiosity takes over. He jumps off the tree and walks over. Kazuha is crouched by the bank and carefully watching something in the water.

“What is it,” Scaramouche asks.

“Look over there,” Kazuha points to something and pushes on the back of Scaramouche’s leg.

In an instant, Scaramouche kicks the hand away, and Kazuha falls straight into the water. It’s only after his reflexes have already taken over, does Scaramouche realize Kazuha was trying to get him to stand closer- not some elaborate assassination attempt.

The water ripples with a few bubbles before Kazuha finally comes back up, gasping for air. The fish and whatever Kazuha tried to show him have long disappeared. Kazuha stands half submerged amongst the reeds that gently sway in the wind.

Water makes his face glisten underneath the sunlight. Kazuha’s eyes also glitter as they crease, and his lips curve into a smile.

“Sir, universe A-121 requires your assistance.”

Scaramouche does not move. He continues to scan a newspaper taken from his last trip as if it was the most interesting thing to ever exist. The pocket watch laid open on his desk ticks faintly, slow and steady but faster than before.

It is expected that old ones will be replaced by new ones when they eventually succumb to entropy. Even the lord of all universes cannot help in their battle against time, for it is the natural state of things. Yet irregularities in the progression of a universe's life span seem to crop up every moment. Because of them, Scaramouche has not gotten a break for the past millennia.

“All the universes require my assistance,” Scaramouche sneers at his butler. He knows that his butler will not falter at any of his rude remarks, for it is just a robot his mother once created. “Are my subordinates so useless that they can’t even handle the simplest problems?”

“Sir, this one is different,” The butler is now standing in front of his desk, and Scaramouche hears it waving a stack of paper at him. Scaramouche sighs and puts down his newspaper.

“If this one is just as boring as the last, you’re not allowed to bother me for a hundred years,” Scaramouche threatens. It’s hard to measure a hundred years when all the universes run on different timelines. Time does not exist here either, so it’s all just a baseless remark.

“This-” Scaramouche says after reading the report. He doesn’t notice how the papers in his hand are trembling. “Do you know where the drugs came from?”

“No idea,” The butler responds. “We know this drug ‘Naku Weed’ does not belong to universe A-121. It’s quickly spread throughout the underground, and it’s starting to have devastating effects.”

“But it’s impossible for items from another universe to transfer over.”

People, animals, plants, and even simple things like a pencil could not switch universes. The reality from which they originated simply did not exist in a different universe, so their existence could only vanish.

“That’s why we have no choice but to ask you.”

“Fine,” Scaramouche stands up, and the force of the movement distorts the universes at his feet. “I’ll go investigate.”

When his mother first explained to Scaramouche what she did, he knew that one day he would have to do it too. Yet, there was a hatred toward it burning deep inside his heart. The universe was like a crying baby, constantly demanding attention, and attention she was willing to give it. She cradled all the universes and sang them lullabies until they slowly healed.

So, Scaramouche found himself alone as she was off traversing universes like he was doing now. Only the stars and whatever robot creations she brought back accompanied him.

What he didn’t expect were the absolute hell-holes these universes she desired so much seemed to be.

Blaring music is the first thing that graces Scaramouche’s ears when he flings the club doors open. It's distasteful because there is no lovelier sound than silence. Strobing lights dance across his vision and light up the dance floor.

His name in this world is Balladeer- a repeat client of a smuggler connected to this anomaly. Scaramouche has never personally bought anything from this smuggler before, but his identity makes sure he fits seamlessly into this universe. There’s even identification to go along with it, a real ID for a fake person.

It’s the middle of the night, the busiest time a ritzy worn-down bar will ever be, Scaramouche threads his way through the crowd. A hard task when everyone else is moving with the beat of the music.

He ends up at the bar and slides into an empty seat. He takes out his pocket watch and flips the lid open. He does not observe the time, but merely the passage of it. The ticking has gotten even faster, heralding the end of this universe.

Scaramouche is fine with it, he supposes, for if everything fell apart, he would simply let it happen. Countless eons spent maintaining reality would become null and Scaramouche would laugh. He would finally be free from a multiverse that gave him nothing.

It is simply a thought, however.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” A stranger slides into the barstool next to him. “Are you from the Inner Edge?”

“No,” Scaramouche laughs at the man. “Middle.”

Scaramouche has no idea what the Middle is, simply a vague recollection from the information planted inside his brain by the universe. From what he can recall though, humanity in this universe had been decimated to a point where everyone lived in one large city.

Split into three, people living in the Inner Edge experienced luxury and privilege unimaginable in this war-torn landscape. The Outer Edge, in stark contrast, thrived with illegal activity.

“Middle, huh? Well, I suppose most people are from the Middle. There’s no point for those Inner people to come here.” The man turns, and for the first time, Scaramouche can see his face. His hair is orange, but perhaps that was just a consequence of the dim lighting. What stood out the most were his eyes, blue like the ocean, yet they didn’t have the same shine the waves did. “I have family in the Middle.”

The bartender slides over two drinks, one for him and one for Scaramouche.

“Say,” The man takes a sip of his drink. “What are you doing here?”

“I believe your presence is not required anymore, Tartaglia,” A woman’s voice saves Scaramouche from answering. They both turn, and Scaramouche recognizes her as the smuggler he is supposed to meet.

“Sorry, Captain,” Tartaglia raises his arms in surrender and starts to leave but not before turning to Scaramouche one last time. “Welcome to the Inner Edge.”

“Welcome back, Balladeer,” The woman says. Scaramouche knows that her real name is Beidou, but it’s risky to go by that here. She gestures for him to follow her, so he does. He doesn’t stray far as it’s easy to lose Beidou in this crowd.

“I’ve always wondered,” Scaramouche muses, “Why do you call yourself Captain?”

Beidou chuckles, “Someone once said I run quite a tight ship here, like a captain.”

She leads them to a back room, and the noises disappear once she closes the door. Scaramouche sits on one of the couches while Beidou sits across from him.

“Your usual order is ready for pick up,” Beidou says. “But we’ve recently gotten something new.”

“Oh, tell me more about it.”

Beidou throws a pouch onto the table, but Scaramouche does not reach for it.

“Waku, Naku Weed. I forgot what it’s called. It’s some good stuff though.”

The pouch is glowing and that isn’t something the chandelier hanging from the ceiling can cause. Magic is a crude way of putting it, but it’s the only thing Scaramouche can think of to describe such a phenomenon. Elemental energy leaks from it, seeping into the fabric of reality.

He glances up at Beidou, but her expression is unchanging. She probably can’t even see it, because magic does not exist in this universe.

The type of energy flowing in this universe can only power science and technology. It isn’t advanced enough for magical plants to take root. Yet the energy radiating off the pouch is some kind of elemental energy, magic that should’ve ceased to exist the moment it found its way into this universe.

“Give me everything,” Scaramouche demands.

“Are you sure? We have quite a bit,” Beidou questioned

The magic will corrode this universe if Scaramouche does not destroy it, “I’m sure.”

Beidou smiles, “It’s always a pleasure doing business with you.”

This is the first time Scaramouche has ridden this elevator, but there’s a sense of familiarity to it. He is woven into this universe so tightly that even deja vu is something he feels.

The metal doors slide open, and the vastness of Beidou’s operation reveals itself. The warehouse she hides behind the ritzy bar is like any other, mundane as can be when painted a single shade of gray. Workers scurry around stacking chairs, operating machinery, and whatever else needs to be done.

“Welcome back, Captain” an employee greets Beidou who she smiles at.

While the contents of her operation were at best morally questionable and at worst life-threatening, it is undeniable that Beidou provides a haven for the people of the Outer Edge. The working conditions are fair and she treats her employees respectfully, a far better fate than other jobs offered around here.

“We’ve arrived,” Beidou gestures to the vastness of her factory, the pride of her heart.

Scaramouche snaps out of his daze, “This place never fails to mesmerize me.”

There are crates upon crates stacked upon each other, all glowing a violent purple. No one can see how the foreign energy threatens to rip apart the universe. No one except Scaramouche.

“Agent K,” Beidou waves at someone in the corner. “Come help Balladeer here. I have somewhere else to be.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Scaramouche is aware of Beidou leaving and someone else approaching him.

“How may I help you, Balladeer?” The voice brushed over Scaramouche like the wind. When he looks up, Scaramouche realizes that this universe cannot be saved.

“Kazuha…” Scaramouche lets escape from his mouth.

He is sure that this man with a red streak running through his hair is Kazuha because a millennia ago, Scaramouche lived a decade inside the universe with sakura blossoms and a koi pond.

A decade is nothing to Scaramouche, an atom in the time frame of eternity. But for Kazuha, it made all the difference.

The Kazuha of that universe changed from a boy to a man, and Scaramouche marveled at how quickly humans grew when forced to adapt to the suffering of life. But even then, the smile never dipped off Kazuha’s face.

This Kazuha does not smile. Instead, he presses a knife against Scaramouche’s throat, “How do you know my name?”

Scaramouche has made a mistake.

Of course, a knife could never hurt him, but this whole situation would be resolved faster if Kazuha wasn’t at his throat. He reaches into his pocket and turns the knob of his watch.

Time flows backward, and now Scaramouche no longer stands at the edge of a knife.

“How may I help you, Balladeer?” Kazuha says again.

This time Scaramouche is not caught off guard. He smirks at Kazuha with a sense of familiarity that the universe conjured up for his persona Balladeer.

“It’s nice to see you again, Agent K.”

“Likewise,” Kazuha nods. “If you want to chat, now isn’t the best time.”

“I bought the entire supply of Naku Weed,” says Scaramouche.

“Ah Captain did message me about that,” replies Kazuha. “I will get it ready for you.”

Scaramouche moves aside and leans against a wall in a dimly lit corner. He comes to two realizations as he watches the warehouse workers bumble about.

First, it is not possible for Kazuha to exist in this universe. Scaramouche already knows this. Each person is unique to their universe, so it is impossible for a person to exist in a different universe. Kazuha is already a samurai in another universe, he cannot be the right-hand man of a drug lord in this one.

Since clause one has been violated, Scaramouche comes to the next one:

Second, the universe will fall apart because of Kazuha’s impossible existence. The universe cannot support the foreign nature of Kazuha’s existence and will collapse on itself trying to. Paired with the Naku Weed, Scaramouche wouldn’t be surprised if it fell apart next week.

The supply of Naku Weed is quickly dealt with. His subordinates who were probably the most useless beings were at least useful for something. It’s a temporary solution as Beidou will get her hands on some more, but one of the Balladeer’s poor subordinates will buy it right up again.

However, another problem still remains.

“You’re still here, Balladeer?” Kazuha locks the back door. His footsteps echo across the bleak alley. Then, they stop as he leans next to Scaramouche.

“I was waiting for you, Agent K,” Scaramouche takes a drag of his cigarette, and the smoke lingers. The chill of the night freezes the particles in place, creating a haze that distorts his vision.

“A cigarette?” Kazuha gestures with his chin. “I suppose only someone like you can get their hands on a cigarette.”

To smoke and then to be addicted is a dangerous gamble in this world, a privilege only available to the wealthy. Scaramouche holds it out, but Kazuha shakes his head.

“I don’t smoke.”

Scaramouche nods. No matter how much Beidou pays him, it’s not enough for Kazuha to fund a habit.

It’s strange how quiet it is between the two of them. There is a club behind the double doors but not a single note filters through. The city of night never rests, but at this moment, there is nothing but complete silence. The world seems to stop when there is no sound, preserving this single moment.

“Do you want to go out for dinner?” Scaramouche speaks first and shatters the delicate silence.

Kazuha pauses, smiling, “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yes,” Scaramouche says. He isn’t sure why he agreed, it wasn’t his intention in the first place. At least a date served as the perfect pretense of getting information out of Kazuha.

“You don’t even know my name,” Kazuha counters

But I do, thinks Scaramouche.

“That doesn’t matter,” Scaramouche says instead. “I know you well enough.”

Kazuha searches his face, hoping to find a crack in the Balladeer- something that will reveal who he truly is. Scaramouche does the same. But a decade and more is a long time for a human, enough to reveal their true personality. After all that time in a different universe, Scaramouche isn’t sure he’ll find anything new about this Kazuha.

“Alright,” agrees Kazuha. “Let’s go.”

“Wamin Restaurant is quite expensive,” Kazuha says as Scaramouche pulls the door open.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m paying.”

“You tell everyone you’re from the Middle, but somehow I feel you’re from the Inner Edge,” says Kazuha. “Even then, I don’t think someone from the Inner Edge can buy as much as you.”

They are met with the sound of a gurgling water fountain, a stone fish in the middle spouting water that spills back down. The shine of the water distorts the staircase that rests behind it, velvet carpet and all. It’s quite possibly the nicest place in the Outer Edge.

“I’m from wherever you want me to be,” Scaramouche turns and makes sure Kazuha is following him up the staircase.

“Well, I think you’re from space then,” Kazuha laughs at his joke. “Imagine when I tell Captain that you’re an alien.”

Scaramouche tries to keep his expression neutral, but Kazuha’s good mood is infectious.

The top floor is covered in stars, a mimicry of space. The walls have holographic projections of galaxies displayed on them, while the roof is a glass dome so the real stars can shine through. Kazuha stares at it with so much awe, as if the stars were pure diamonds. But there is nothing precious about outer space. The stars are balls of gas and the galaxies are black holes threatening to pull them in.

Scaramouche, who is the lord of them all, who has seen every sky and star, scoff at their existence.

The waitress pours them each a glass of wine. Even when the world has fallen apart, drinks don’t seem to run dry.

He isn’t sure how a date is supposed to go, other than the various forms of media he has consumed throughout all his travels.

“Tell me about yourself,” He recites, like that one character from a TV show he quite enjoyed.

Kazuha blinks a few times before registering that Scaramouche asked him a question.

“Well, I grew up in the Inner Edge, but as part of a disgraced noble family,” says Kazuha. He reveals with brutal honesty his life story to a stranger whose name he doesn’t know.

“Why did you leave?”

“We were on the verge of collapse anyway so I took my leave when I was sixteen. The Inner Edge never felt right though, as if I was missing a piece of myself,” Kazuha pauses as the food starts to arrive, aromatic delicacies common in the Inner Edge but a legend here in the Outer Edge. “I wandered a while, searching for something I suppose. Captain took me under her wing, so I’ve been there ever since.”

Scaramouche pours two bowls of porridge before dropping the ladle back into the pot. He hands one to Kazuha, who receives it with a quick ‘thank you’. The steam of the porridge soup heats Scaramouche’s face, but when he eats it, there is no taste. Kazuha’s face, on the other hand, lights up as he consumes the savory dish.

Kazuha talks more about his family in-between sips- his mother, father, and a dog they once owned. He does not shy away from their disgrace; how a powerful family was reduced to nothing

“My parents were too proud to move away,'' There is no regret in Kazuha’s voice, as if he’s stating a simple fact.

As Kazuha talks, Scaramouche listens. He is enamored by the complexity of Kazuha’s life. The ups and downs, good and bad, cannot be captured by a single word. It is too human for Scaramouche to understand.

Everything Kazuha said also lined up with the research Scaramouche did. The records, documents, and memories of this universe all fleshed out a person by the name of Kaedehara Kazuha. There were no anomalies surrounding him.

It is as if Kazuha truly belongs to this universe.

“I’m sorry I can’t tell you anything more than my family,” Kazuha bows his head in regret as he still has the facade of Agent K to maintain. Scaramouche doesn’t push for more; he is already familiar with the way Kazuha’s personality sways.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself, Balladeer?”

“I’m the eldest son of a wealthy family as well.” The lie slips easily off his tongue. “My mother is a politician so she doesn’t pay much attention to what I do.”

It’s frightening, thinks Scaramouche, how the story the universe weaves for him is so close to reality.

“I feel like your dealings here might cause her some trouble,” Kazuha grins with amusement.

“Well, you’re quite good at what you do,” Scaramouche states. It’s true that Kazuha is quite talented at making sure all of Balladeer’s dealings stay discrete. A blush spreads over Kazuha’s face, a flush from the wine or something else.

The conversation flows endlessly and Scaramouche is so taken that he forgets to think. There are a multitude of universes out there that require his attention, but he can only focus on a single person in this one. They talk and talk, and soon the food is gone and Scaramouche finds himself standing outside as the wind lashes against his face.

It’s funny how time even affects him. The best moments fly by in an instant, yet Scaramouche can never escape eternity.

“That was nice,” Kazuha shivers as the early hours of the morning are relentless in their frost. “Thank you.”

“I suppose I’ll see you later Agent K,” Scaramouche replies, even though he knows it’s a lie. His investigation is done, so he will not be returning to this universe. Balladeer will be erased completely until his presence is needed again.

“Are you not going to ask for my name?” Kazuha asks.

“You can tell me if you want to.”

“It’s Kazuha.”

“That’s a nice name.”

It’s time for Scaramouche to leave, but he finds that he doesn’t have the heart to. It’s quiet and peaceful in this mess of a universe. Up there, he has nothing except a mechanical butler hounding him at every moment. Kazuha does not walk away either, even though the chill of each breath rattles his bones.

“I have a cat,” Kazuha tugs on the cuff of his sleeve, “Do you want to see him?”

There is truly no thought in Scaramouche’s mind when he speaks, “Sure.”

Kazuha’s cat is a menace. It hisses at Scaramouche so he hisses back. Kazuha seems to find this whole situation hilarious as he’s giggling in the corner.

“Tomo, come here,” Kazuha stretches his arms ou,t and the cat jumps straight into his embrace. The cat snuggles in the crook of Kazuha’s elbow and shoots Scaramouche a smug glare. It’s a much different story for Scaramouche as his pants have threads coming out of them.

Scaramouche reaches into his coat and takes out a cigarette box. He holds it in his palm as he tries to wiggle a cigarette out. Scaramouche places it precariously between his lips before realizing he can’t use his powers to light it. Not when Kazuha is here.

But Kazuha has already noticed his problem and rummages through a kitchen drawer for a lighter. When he finds the flimsy red piece of plastic he’s looking for, Kazuha flicks the lighter wheel and brings the flame to Scaramouche’s face.

The lights of Kazuha’s house are dim, but the fire makes everything explored in brightness. It flickers like the sun, and Scaramouche leans in to light his cigarette. They are mere inches away, but an eternity separates them.

Scaramouche is an existence too otherworldly to comprehend, and Kazuha is just a human. But when Kazuha looks up, the short glance makes every bone in Scaramouche’s body quiver. He can feel the weight of Kazuha’s stare as it pierces his soul, ripping Scaramouche to pieces and revealing the fact that he has no heart.

“I’m going outside,” says Scaramouche. He turns around and slides the screen to Kazuha’s backyard open.

“Wait,” Kazuha tries to stop him, “Don’t go there.”

There is a dimensional rift in the middle of Kazuha’s backyard, a clean cut threatening to destroy the fabric of reality. The plants in his backyard glow with the strange anomaly. Some of it is Naku Weed, but the rest are completely unrecognizable.

When Scaramouche takes out his pocket watch, the metal frame quivers within his hand. The hands are spinning out of control as well- much like this universe.

Kazuha’s eyes are wide open, and he takes a step back when Scaramouche turns to face him, “I can explain.”

“They just appeared in my backyard so I planted them,” Kazuha insists. “Then, I took some to Captain, and it spiraled from there.”

It’s the most ludicrous excuse that Scaramouche has ever heard. However, he knows that it’s true. The plants were sucked through the dimensional rift and Kazuha’s strange presence masked their foreign nature.

“Can you not see it?” Scaramouche points to where the rift is.

“What are you talking about?” replies Kazuha.

Even now, Scaramouche is still testing him. Kazuha, who comes from another universe, is clueless about the rift that threatens to destroy his reality. He cannot be special because he is just as weak as every person in this universe.

“I had a lovely time tonight,” says Scaramouche. It’s not a lie and the truth of it makes his entire soul tremble.

Kazuha blinks at the sudden change of topic, “Oh, me too.”

Scaramouche takes a step closer to the rift and he can hear it whisper through his ear. The madness of it taints his mind, jumbling into a sound that resembles a gale wind. It calls him, pulling him closer so it can suck his essence away.

Kazuha smiles at him, in that lopsided way with a slight blush.

“If you manage to remember me,” Scaramouche professes. “Know that you’ll see me again.”

It’s a lie, but Scaramouche tells many lies. He will not return to this universe; he never returns after deciding its fate. He isn’t even sure Kazuha will remember him, but he isn’t sure about anything related to the anomaly named Kaedehara Kazuha.

The rift reaches to suck Scaramouche in, turning the entire sky pitch black. Usually, he would just let it consume the universe as it’s not worth closing up the rift, as a rift signals the universe’s time is up anyway.

But this time, if only to give Kazuha a little more time, he will close it up.

He is the universe and the universe is him. To heal the universe, Scaramouche must give it a memory.

“I’m going to destroy everything if you give me the universe,” says Scaramouche. His eyes shine with the naivety of a child and the weight of eternity is but an idea.

She slides a brush through his hair, and it glistens like the stars. The hair that falls is like hers, for she bestowed the gift of life onto him.

“That’s okay,” She puts down the comb and picks up a pair of scissors.

She cuts it quickly and his hair floats to the floor. His head is lighter, as if the constraints that once bound his mind disappeared. She hands the mirror to inspect his new haircut.

“But then you find something that makes it worth keeping.”

Scaramouche likes reading. He continues to read even when he already knows everything reality has to offer him. The thin sheet of paper crinkles, before settling back down, when he turns the pages. The fragility of it amuses Scaramouche, one wrong move, and the entire thing would fall apart.

“Oh, you’re here again?” A fellow student sits across from him. “Don’t you have anything better to do, Kabukimono?”

In this universe, he is Kabukimono. The identity of a wandering eccentric suits him as he’s an exchange student from a faraway land.

Scaramouche looks away from his book and is met with a warm smile and eyes that shine like rubies. It appears as if Kazuha is also an exchange student from a faraway land.

Now, Scaramouche is convinced he is cursed. He has visited sixteen hundred different universes and all of them had traces of Kazuha- whether it be a snippet in the newspapers, a social media post, or the person in flesh and blood.

Most of these universes are falling apart and Kazuha’s foreign presence only accelerates their demise. Scaramouche has no qualms with universes falling to their run as new ones will quickly take their place. Yet something has melted his stone-cold facade. His unfeeling mind almost feels pity for these universes that slowly collapse under the weight of eternity.

Scaramouche has lost many memories as a result.

Sometimes, these universes accept Kazuha as their own, and even Scaramouche wouldn’t know that Kazuha didn’t belong there. But it poses a question. If Kazuha is in all universes then which universe does he truly belong to?

This is something that even he isn’t sure of. However, there is a notion in Scaramouche’s mind that coming to the library of universe E-967 will help him think better. Surrounded by other people thinking just as hard, he is bound to find the answer.

“Hey, do you want to go out for coffee?” Kazuha is a student, although Scaramouche finds he does anything but study. Even Scaramouche, who isn’t even a real student, sometimes does the assigned reading. Kazuha, on the other hand, scribbles poetry on napkins and recites haikus to whoever’s nearby, which usually happens to be Scaramouche. “I heard Puspa Café got a delivery.”

“I’m busy today.” Scaramouche is not busy today.

“You’re not busy if you have time to read a book on the life cycle of a worm.”

“It’s assigned reading for ‘Advanced Terrestrial Lifeforms’. I thought you took that class last year,” says Scaramouche half-heartedly. He is too engrossed by this author’s passionate exposition of how worms reproduce.

Kazuha glares at him, “Never mention that class to me again.”

Scaramouche sighs in defeat and begrudgingly follows Kazuha to the exit. Though he pretends to be annoyed, a fondness has developed inside Scaramouche for this strange routine. Scaramouche has been here for five years, but he isn’t any closer to finding the answer to Kazuha’s strange existence. He befriended Kazuha in an attempt to find answers, but there hasn’t been anything of interest yet. Only that, like most people, Kazuha is a stressed Akademiya student.

It’s been raining the past few days, so when the sun comes out, it shines brighter than ever. Kazuha floats outside and is hit with a ray of sunshine. He glows underneath it and turns and gestures for Scaramouche to hurry up.

It is small things like these that make it worth staying, even if he hasn’t found the answer yet. Each Kazuha Scaramouche encounters is different, but fundamentally they are the same person.

The people of this universe wear robes that almost reach to the floor. Scaramouche thinks it’s impractical and only has seen it in movies and the occasional magical universe. There is magic in this universe, but it’s a dying practice and scientific advancement has become the priority. Their goals are futuristic, yet tradition is set in stone.

So comes a world where life seems primitive, but the minds of the people have everything to offer.

“Ah Akademiya students,” The waitress puts two cups of coffee on their table. Kazuha seemed to have ordered while Scaramouche was thinking. “We haven’t been getting a lot of you guys lately.”

They thank her for their drinks, and Kazuha wants to talk with her but some other customers grab her attention.

“You want to talk to everyone,” says Scaramouche. It’s an odd habit that this universe’s Kazuha seems to have.

“As students, our duty is to learn,” Kazuha says. “The point of learning is to gain a richer understanding of the world. Different people have different perspectives of the world, it’s enlightening.”

“I suppose,” Scaramouche takes a sip of his coffee.

“I want to wander around after I graduate,” states Kazuha. The steaming hot coffee that Kazuha dragged Scaramouche here to try is forgotten as Kazuha becomes engrossed in his burning passion. So many times has Scaramouche heard the dreams of Kaedehana Kazuha, and every time, they are the same. “Every day I wake up and it feels as if I’m searching for something. So I want to look for it. Experience the world for myself and see what it has to offer. I’ll speak to all sorts of people in my travels. Maybe, I’ll even be a pirate.”

“Kazuha,” Scaramouche says softly. He almost hopes Kazuha doesn’t hear him so then he can take back the words he’s about to say. Kazuha hears him though and tilts his head, waiting for a response, “What if I told you that this universe is just one out of the infinite multiverse? That there are infinitely many worlds you can wander through.”

“Is this some conspiracy theory you read about?” Kazuha scoffs. He doesn’t believe Scaramouche but Scaramouche doesn’t expect him to believe it either. He isn’t even sure what possessed him to reveal the nature of reality.

“No, I’m serious,” says Scaramouche.

“Well the sky is fake,” Kazuha retorts. “I’m serious as well.”

This time Scaramouche laughs, “If the sky is fake, then how is everything not falling out of it? Are the stars just paper cutouts? Do the sun and moon move because of some divine hand?”

“Yes,” Kazuha replies. He must find it equally amusing to entertain such a preposterous idea. “The real stars have long fallen from the sky. Their magic seeps into the ground, becoming one of this world.”

It strikes Scaramouche at that moment, the answer to his question.

Kazuha is a star that has fallen from the sky. He was a star that could never stay still and searched for something more than himself. He wanted to wander the expanse of the universe and see what reality had to offer. However, as he fell, his presence divided itself amongst each universe.

However, there are still things Scaramouche does not know. Which sky did he fall from, Scaramouche isn’t sure. But it must be the sky that Scaramouche sees, the one above his head. It is a sky that even Scaramouche cannot reach.

Reality is changing against his will. It does that a lot, Scaramouche muses, but this time it seems to be different. He takes the watch out of his pocket and cool steel greets his cold palm. The hands are ticking even faster now, as if the discovery of the anomaly named Kaedehara Kazuha has started the end of all known things.

Universes that were previously stable seem to disappear without warning and new ones are not created in time. There is a net loss of reality and Scaramouche can do nothing about his slowly shrinking domain. Scaramouche has nothing against such a dilemma though, for if everything falls apart, he will go along with it.

H-16. One moment he’s standing in the darkness of space with strings running across the floor, and the next, the sun glares down at him.

People in the crowd jostle against him as they all try to make their way forward. Scaramouche gets swept up in the flow and he finds himself at the front. His bodies tend to manifest on the shorter side so he can only catch glimpses of what’s happening on stage. He doesn’t need to see its entirety to know what’s going on though, the universe has already spoon-fed him every detail that needs to be known.

The king stands on a balcony above the stage, his gaze empty as he looms over the crowd. Nobles decorate his side, swishing goblets of decadent wine. The king raises his hand and when he drops it, the guillotine falls as well.

Another rebel executed.

Universe H-16 is at a turning point, a point in time where a crucial event will decide if the universe survives or falls into ruin. Scaramouche does not mingle in these events but merely watches them for entertainment. Sometimes they earn his pity and he will grant them his mercy. Most of the time, he just lets them fall apart.

“It’s not safe for you to be here,” says Scaramouche. He slips into a dark alley and leans against the stone-brick wall. The yelling crowd can still be heard, much too close for Scaramouche’s comfort.

“I could say the same for you,” The person sighs. His face is covered by the shadows, but even they cannot hide the shine of such green eyes. “You’re the son of a noble, yet you choose to aid us.”

“I believe in the Resistance’s cause,” Scaramouche replies. They’ve had this conversation many times, and each time, the result is inconclusive. “Is that not enough of a reason, Venti?” They dance around this topic, Scaramouche is suspicious of him, and Venti suspects Scaramouche.

“Ah you see, Scaramouche,” Venti steps out of the alley, and together they prepare to leave, “I don’t think that’s the reason why you’re here.”

Venti has the youthfulness of a boy, and to a passerby, he is nothing but a drunk student. Yet, Scaramouche has learned he carries the weight of eternity. His words are wise beyond his age and his soul appears to be soulless. Venti has lost everything for the Resistance to thrive.

“Good evening!” Venti cheers. He takes a hefty sip from the wine bottle he’s holding, straight from the cellar of Scaramouche’s manor. There’s a smile on his face, and he hops around without a care in the world. The way he presents himself is completely different from when he was interrogating Scaramouche in the alley.

No one acknowledges Venti’s presence or his cheerful mood.

“Now back to my point,” Jean glares at Venti before going back to the chalkboard. “We will not beg for our freedom, we must fight for it.”

There are murmurs around the room after Jean’s final statement. Her words have always been powerful and these are no different. Scaramouche does not join the discussion but merely muses at the situation in front of him. He takes a seat in the back of this classroom locked away in the basement.

In this basement, they are planning a revolution.

“Oh, you’re back.”

In every universe he visits, Scaramouche finds himself hearing the same voice, and it never fails to surprise him.

“I promised I’d be back, Kaedehara,” replies Scaramouche. He doesn’t even have to look to know who it is.

Kazuha sits next to him and the sofa compresses under their combined weight.

“What do you think of this whole thing?” Kazuha gestures. Jean and Venti have split off. Jean tries to get Venti to make plans, but Venti is too busy messing around. Scaramouche watches as she sighs and approaches Diluc instead. They are sure to get something done.

“It’s intriguing,” says Scaramouche. “We’ll see how it plays out.”

Kazuha throws his head back onto the couch and stares at the ceiling. Scaramouche does the same but all he can see is the peeling paint.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter for you,” replies Kazuha. “If we win, then you can enjoy the new era of freedom. If we lose, you have your life of nobility to return to.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

Kazuha ignores him, “For someone like me, we cannot accept any fate except freedom. Else, life will be too miserable to bear.”

The noise of discussions happening in the background fills the quiet between them. Dreams for the future and regrets for the past are all spoken either in a chant or some passing whisper. Scaramouche has neither of those, he simply exists. The magnitude of reality will consume him whole if his thoughts dare stray too far.

“You have a way with words,” Scaramouche says after a while. The simmering silence breaks and Kazuha glances at him with curiosity. “You should become the spokesperson for the Resistance.”

“I can talk,” Kazuha smiles, “But will anyone listen to what I have to say?”

Scaramouche has become the perfect liar after an eternity of practice, so perfect he can even lie to himself. He is here just to watch how the revolution plays out not to think, not to meddle, but to act as a mindless passerby. There is no other reason.

“I’ll listen.”

Revolution has become reality. It creeps into every crevice of a daily person’s life. Rumors about it swirl around the city plaza and shopkeepers are careful to not be caught gossiping lest they be arrested. Executions have become frequent and fights between soldiers and civilians break out on the streets. An overcast of death hangs over the sky and as winter follows autumn, the sun becomes no more.

Scaramouche does not care for any of those things. He snaps the pocket watch closed, but it continues to vibrate in his hand uncontrollably.

He takes a seat in his usual spot in the college basement. It’s almost empty now. Jean and Diluc are off running errands, while Venti has long been on the run. The carefree leader of the Resistance could not afford to be so carefree anymore.

“I think there’s more to life than this,” Kazuha takes a seat in his usual spot as well. The sofa has worn down over time and pieces of leather are starting to fall off. But, it’s enough for the two of them. “All the time, it feels like I’m missing something. So when the war is over, I want to travel. Search for something greater, see the world for myself..”

No matter how many times Scaramouche meets Kazuha, he never changes. His dreams never change and such a fluid wish, like becoming a wanderer searching the depths and skies, is enough to anchor Kazuha’s mind.

“I dream sometimes,” Scaramouche does not sleep, he does not dream. “That I’m the lord of all universes. That I’ve witnessed every single thing to ever exist. I suppose in a way I am a wanderer, traversing through all the universes.”

“It’s a terrible existence though. I have to watch every universe fall apart as it’s consumed by entropy. I think in the beginning it didn’t matter because it didn’t seem real. But…”

But now I know every universe has you in it. Scaramouche doesn’t say that.

“That’s not a dream, that’s a nightmare,” says Kazuha. “Does it ever get better?”

“I don’t know,” Scaramouche replies. “I haven’t finished my dream yet.”

Kazuha turns away and leans his head against the couch. “The revolution seems never ending and every day the Resistance loses more people. I dream of freedom and the winds roaring against my face as I finally see what’s at the top of Dragonspine. But right now, It feels as if I’m stuck in a nightmare.”

There is blood running down Scaramouche’s hands. He watches how it stains his fingers crimson red. He reaches for his watch and his hands shake as he opens the lid. He twists the knob trying to rewind time, but to no avail. The hands are spinning so fast, the universe has become so unstable, that the machine parts have become stuck. No longer will time in this universe abide by his will.

The soldiers that tried to barge their way into the college basement lie at his feet. Scaramouche cannot have such filth staining his hands so he wipes it on the wall.

“Scaramouche…” Kazuha’s words are barely a whisper, as if someone breathed too loudly in an empty room.

“Kazuha,” Scaramouche says back.

He does not dare look at Kazuha and face the expression of absolute betrayal and disgust that Kazuha is sure to have. Except Kazuha laughs. He uncontrollably laughs and only then does Scaramouche turn around. His hands and clothes are stained scarlet, but even then, Kazuha still smiles at him.

“Freedom, it’s not worth it,” says Kazuha. His eyes are full-blown as months of sleepless nights and worry, culminate into a single moment. It borders on insanity, but the terrible pain that Kazuha feels underlines every word he speaks.

“Venti is gone, Jean is gone, Diluc almost killed his brother,” Kazuha cries, “Freedom is so minuscule compared to those things. It doesn’t matter.”

The universe falls apart with Kazuha. Cracks spread across the floor, chunks of the wall swirl around, and a dimensional rift rips open reality. Kazuha is being pulled by it too, but he cannot feel it. Scaramouche is cursed, so only he can see the universe collapsing on itself.

“You’re right,” Scaramouche says. “There are an infinite number of universes out there. We are just specks of dust, nothing we do or say truly matters in the whole scheme of things.”

Scaramouche has no more memories to give, he cannot heal this universe. Hundreds of universes before this one received memories, but now he has no more. The only thing that Scaramouche can remember now are the hundreds of instances he met Kazuha, and he cannot let those go.

“But to say we don’t matter,” Scaramouche continues, “that isn’t true. In every single universe out there, you matter to me.”

Kazuha’s eyes widen, and Scaramouche leaves before he has to watch Kazuha disappear into the void.

Scaramouche has failed. To care for all the universes was his eternal duty; it was the entire meaning of his existence, yet even this, he has failed.

There are cracks in the sky of Universe J-5768. The purple shades of morning dawn split apart, with lines running across that resemble the color of harsh bruises. The universe is falling apart, and Scaramouche can do nothing about it. He has no more memories to heal the universe with. He doesn’t have anything except the sight of crimson eyes staring back at his soulless ones.

The shop in front of him sells clocks. Nothing unusual considering the steampunk nature of this universe. The shops on this street lurch as steam and fog billow out of their copper pipes.

Scaramouche isn’t sure why he’s here. Perhaps he visited this shop before, but the memory of it was given to another universe.

He pushes the door open, and he is bewitched by the sight in front of him. There isn’t a single empty space in the small, cozy shop. Grandfather clocks heave their weight against the wooden floorboards, while analog clocks are pasted across the wall. Pocket watches dangle from various nooks and crannies, wrapped around any space.

Everything moves in synchronization, marking the perfect passage of time. Scaramouche opens his pocket watch and discovers that it, too, is moving with the rest of the timepieces. This universe was on the brink of destruction, yet the pocket watch ticked slowly in this strange bubble of time.

“Welcome to Narukami Clocks,” The shopkeeper shuffles out from the back but doesn’t look up. She seems to be engrossed in the latest light novel. “How may I be of assistance?”

“My pocket watch is broken,” Scaramouche slides the watch across the counter.

The lady sighs and puts down her book. She grabs the watch and turns and spins it around a few times. She runs her finger across the glass cover, where not a single scratch is etched into its surface, even though it has been through an eternity of wear. The knob doesn’t move so the time does not wind. The shopkeeper writes that in her notebook.

Then, she turns it around. Scaramouche knows there is nothing special on the back except for a small engraving.

“For Kuni…” The shopkeeper lets slip as she reads the carving. Almost immediately, she freezes.

For the first time, she looks up at Scaramouche. Her pink hair slides behind her shoulders, and her violet eyes meet his. Her mouth dips open as shock paints her face, but it doesn’t stay long as a smile quickly replaces it. Then, a chuckle replaces the silence.

“So you’re real, Kunikuzushi,” she says.

A deep sense of dread weaves its way into Scaramouche’s false heart, threatening to crack the ice that’s frozen over it. It’s his turn to be surprised, but he can control his reactions and muscles, unlike the human shopkeeper.

“How do you know me?” He asks. Kunikuzushi is his name in this universe, his true name. Only his mother whispered such a name, no one except her and this strange shopkeeper it seems. But the name feels foreign, another false persona created by the universe.

“I knew Ei- your mother, I suppose,” she corrects herself. “I would consider myself her friend.”

“My mother has no friends,” says Scaramouche. His mother was the loneliest existence in all the universes. “You were not her friend, Yae Miko.”

Yae Miko chuckles, “You are very much like her. She said that to me before.”

“I suppose you are right, though. Nothing could keep her here,” Yae Miko sweeps the light novels to the ground. Dust comes fluttering out of them as they fall to the floor. They join the pile of books lying haphazardly, “In the end, she left didn’t she?”

“What are you talking about?” questions Scaramouche. “My mother died. She gave up her existence to maintain the universal balance.”

“Is that so?” asks Yae Miko. He hates the way she looks at him, as if he’s a stupid child. There is no hate in her eyes but simply pity. “Ask yourself, Kunikuzushi, can you die? Would you give up your existence?

“I’m sure that since reality is falling apart, your answer is no.”

“So?” says Scaramouche.

“You are searching for the truth about the sky, aren’t you?” Yae Miko asks. “She did too.”

Scaramouche does not reply. He doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

“Come here, Kunikuzushi,” says Yae Miko. She stretches out her palms, “Grab my hand.”

Scaramouche puts his hands on top of hers.

“Think of this as your mother’s parting gift.”

Scaramouche does not have a body. He cannot feel his limbs, and there is no flesh beneath him. The only reminder of his existence is the scene placed in front of him. His lens is tinted a slight grey and the finer details are vague, but the clock shop is recognizable nevertheless. Yae Miko is working at the counter, tinkering away on a new trinket. Her eyes are full of youth, and she hums a tune while toiling away.

The bell on the door rings. It’s loud and clear, unlike the barely audible ting Scaramouche heard when he entered the same way.

“Welcome to Narukami-” Yae Miko looks up, “Oh it’s you.”

“Is my order from last time ready?”

Mother, Scaramouche wants to call out to her. But he cannot move, he cannot speak. He is merely an observer of Yae Miko’s final memory.

“I already told you Ei, your custom piece will take a lifetime to make.”

“Then you must get started on it soon,” Ei replies. “If it’s time you need, I can give you an eternity.”

Yae Miko sighs in defeat. No matter what excuse she comes up with, Ei always has a solution.

“Would you like some tea?” she asks instead.

“Sure,” says Ei.

Together, they head toward the back of the store.

Scaramouche is dragged along. His corporeal presence is tied to Yae Miko and he can feel the jolt when Yae Miko starts walking.

The kettle has already been boiling for a while. Rolls of water try to leap out when Yae Miko opens the lid. She quickly closes it and pours two cups of water. Ei hands her the teabags.

“Why do you get to choose the tea?” Yae Miko asks. Ei just smiles, and it's clear they have this argument every time. “You can’t even taste it.”

Ei does not respond to her provocation. Instead, she says something else, “I think I shall have a son.”

Yae Miko almost spills her drink. She composes herself before asking, “What prompted this?”

“I think I am experiencing something called loneliness,” Ei says. “I read about it in a different universe.”

“Is my friendship not enough?” Yae Miko asks.

“We are not friends,” Ei replies. “And you cannot understand me to the fullest degree. Only a son, tied to eternity like I am, will understand.”

Yae Miko’s face does not sway during the conversation. She does not seem hurt by his mother’s words, Scaramouche thinks. But deep down, he knows that such abrasiveness will always leave a scar.

“You have to care for a child,” Yae Miko says instead.

“I’ve been researching in preparation lately. I’m sure my newly made servants can handle raising a child,” Ei says. “I think I will name him Kunikuzushi.”

“That’s not what I meant, Ei”

“What do you mean then, Miko?”

“You have to love a child,” says Yae Miko.

The world collapses in on itself. Yae Miko isn’t even looking at her, but Ei’s gaze crushes the entire room. The right hand of god, creating a night sky of darkness.

“Can you love someone, Ei?”

Scaramouche feels his entire body convulse as the memory ends. He is stuck in a careful limbo between reality and false dreams. The view around him shifts as it distorts into something else.

He finds himself back in the same room. His mother and Yae Miko are still sitting around the table, but it is not the same as before. Yae Miko has aged. Her face no longer radiates youthful ignorance, but a steady weight of wisdom has made its way onto her shoulder. His mother looks the same, she has not changed. Her movements are perfectly poised and her eyes carry the vision of eternity.

“Did you feel it?” Ei asks.

“What?” replies Yae Miko.

“The universe being ripped apart, did you feel it?”

“I suppose,” Yae Miko says. “There was a storm the other day. Lightning created daytime during the night and the rain seemed never to cease. The wind blew trees down and the streets flooded. Is this your doing?”

“Yes,” Ei does not deny, “My son has been created. I took a piece of every universe and breathed life into it. When he opened his eyes, tears were already dripping down his face. He can already feel the burden of eternity, even if he doesn’t understand it yet.”

“Ei…” Yae Miko does not finish the thought, so she moves on to something else. “You can’t just take a part of a universe, it will fall apart.”

“The moment a universe is created,” Ei replies, “It starts to fall apart. That is the natural state of things.”

Yae Miko chuckles at this, “You know Ei, there’s a famous scientist in my universe that once hypothesized that ‘matter cannot be created or destroyed’. If all the universes are a system, the creator of your son is taking away matter from this system. There is a net loss of reality. Surely, such a system will become unstable?”

Ei opens her mouth but then closes it. She does not have a reply.

The memory shifts again. Yae Miko is tinkering with a clock by her workbench. She picks up a metal gear before placing it in its final resting place. The door jingles and Ei comes strolling in. Yae Miko looks up and smiles.

Ei pulls up a chair against the counter and rests her elbows on top of the glass. She cranes her neck, trying to get a glimpse of Yae Miko’s latest invention.

“My son called me ‘mother’ today,” Ei whispers.

“Oh?” Yae Miko raises her eyebrow in surprise. She puts down her tools and sits across from Ei. “Do you now realize the weight of your situation?”

“His eyes, they are exactly like mine,” says Ei. She ignored Yae Miko’s question. “His mind is so bright as well.”

There’s a tiny merry-go-round beneath the counter, and instead of horses, they are planets. With each mechanical click, they rotate once more around the sun.

“Did you know, Miko,” Ei continues, “that he smiles? It shines.”

“That’s lovely,” replies Yae Miko.

Ei, who has never cared for anything in all the universes, is enamored by her creation.

“I sense that he’s become discontent with me though,” Ei frowns. “I provide him with sustenance and give him gifts from my travels. What else could he need?”

Thousands of thoughts threaten to spill out as words, but Yae Miko knows that Ei will not listen to any of them. Ei’s false heart simply cannot comprehend the extent of her situation.

“I’m not sure,” Yae Miko lies instead. “Speaking of which, your order is complete.”

Yae Miko reaches under the counter and pulls out a gold pocket watch. It’s plain. The case has a lustrous shine to it, and the links of the chain glisten as it moves about. When she flips it open, the hands are ticking in perfect sync with the rest of the timepieces in the shop.

“I included the engraving you requested too,” Yae Miko hands the watch to Ei.

“It’s perfect,” Ei says. She runs her fingers along the letters, little dimples amongst the gold. “For Kunikuzushi. From your mother,” she reads.

Ei looks back at Yae Miko and nods as a thank you. “I’m sure he will enjoy this gift.”

Scaramouche feels like he’s been punched in the gut as he’s thrown into another memory. They are back to drinking tea around the small kitchen table. His mother is soaked head-to-toe, and Yae Miko giggles as she hands her a towel.

“You haven’t come in a while, Ei.”

“You were right, Miko,” says Ei. “The universes have become unstable.”

Yae Miko is silent, her words alone cannot convince a god. Yet, she still musters up the courage to speak, “You must give up your son then, and return the missing pieces.”

“No,” Ei asserts. Her will is unwavering, iron-hard steel. “I have another solution.”

Yae Miko perks up when she hears this, but she is old now. The curiosity that once dominated her days of youth was replaced with doubt.

“There is a universe I cannot control, the origin of all universes I suppose,” continues Ei. “If there’s a universe above even me, then the answer must be there.”

“Don’t be unreasonable,” Yae Miko retorts. “Do you really believe that you’ll find what you want up there?”

Ei has the desperation of a wolf in her eyes. Lord of all universes, yet she thinks like a child. Like shattered glass, the weight of eternity cracks her perfect facade.

“Don’t worry,” Ei smiles and it’s bittersweet. Bittersweet like the lie she tells, “I’ll be back soon.”

Scaramouche gasps as he’s thrown back into reality. The feeling of the glass countertop underneath his hands is surprising. He had gotten used to the nothingness of dreams.

“You…” Scaramouche doesn’t know where to begin.

“Have I been waiting for her all this time?” Yae Miko asks for him instead. “I suppose I have. But the moment she said her final words, I knew it was a lie.”

“My mother,” asks Scaramouche, “Did she go up there?”

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to,” says Yae Miko. “But if it’s the universe that even you have no power over, then it’s the right one.”

Scaramouche nods, “She cursed me. Cursed me with the weight of eternity. I wish I had never been born at all.”

Yae Miko is silent, she does not speak. She has nothing to say anymore, centuries of anger and regret have already dissolved. All she has left are a few memories she clung onto hoping to share with Ei’s son someday. Now that he’s seen it, even those don’t belong solely to her anymore.

“Yae Miko,” Scaramouche whispers. “Do you think it’s wrong if I let go, if I let everything fall into ruin?”

“You shouldn’t ask me. My time will be over soon anyway,” She stares at him with sadness in her eyes. Pain not felt by her, but pity for the pain felt by Scaramouche instead.

Scaramouche stuffs his hands inside his pockets and one of them is met with a slight tick vibrating against his palm. But Scaramouche knows the moment he steps outside, it will threaten to explode.

The bell at the door gives a final attempt at a jingle as he pushes it open. The wind is unyielding in its force and it tries to sweep Scaramouche back inside.

“Do you know someone,” Scaramouche rests his hand on the doorframe and gazes into the distance. Cracks spread across the ground and buildings groan as they try to maintain their mighty stance, “by the name of Kaedehara Kazuha?”

“Kazuha?” There is a sense of familiarity in Yae Miko’s voice. “He died almost a year ago.”

In some universe, Scaramouche is the lazy son of a lord, who sleeps on sakura trees and harasses fish in the koi pond. He also grew up with a samurai by the name of Kaedehara Kazuha, whose voice was as soft as the wind.

When Scaramouche materializes in the universe, he is hit with a wave of new information. The universe spoon-feeds him the latest events since his last visit and developments in his character.

Scaramouche ignores it all.

“Hey you,” Scaramouche grabs a servant scurrying by. Newly folded laundry is dropped onto the floor and stained ugly by the pouring rain.

The servant squeaks. All the staff are aware of their young master's temper.

“Where’s Kazuha?” asks Scaramouche. His mind is shaking, but his voice remains steady.

“Young master,” The servant says helplessly. The fear in his eyes quickly turns into pity for his young master. All the staff are also aware of their young master’s grief. “The young master of the Kaedehara clan gave his life in battle last year.”

In another universe, he is Balladeer. Universe A-121 has been relatively stable since his last visit. All traces of dimensional mingling were erased when Scaramouche closed up the rift, breathing new life into the world.

He sits by the bar, staring at the strange concoction placed in front of him. Ice cubes clink against the glass and the mint leaf gets sucked into the whirlpool. Everyone here moves so fast, speeding by Scaramouche while he’s frozen in time.

“Long time no see, Balladeer,” Beidou slides into the seat next to him and flags down the bartender.

Scaramouche nods at her in acknowledgment. He can tell from the way Beidou shifts in her seat, that she’s trying to cut a new deal. But, he isn’t here for any of that.

“How’s Agent K doing?” Scaramouche asks. He wishes he didn’t, because Scaramouche isn’t truly sure if he wants to hear the answer.

Beidou freezes. She too is now stuck in his loop of time, or for better or worse, the absence of it.

“You two were close, weren’t you?”

Scaramouche does not meet Beidou’s eyes. Even then, he can feel her gaze threatening to suffocate him. He just watches how the ice in his drink spins round and round.

“Agent K was caught in an accident a year ago. I’m sorry, but he didn’t make it.”

In universe E-967, Kabukimono is a student. However, in a few minutes, he will graduate from the Akademiya and become a scholar. He shifts the weight of the strange hat and gown he’s wearing as the people in front of him get their diplomas. But the space beside him was unusually void.

Usually, there would be someone by the name of Kaedehara Kazuha, who was carefree and a student that never did student things, to fill that gap.

The stage is empty so it’s time for Scaramouche to go up. He shakes the Grand Sage’s hand, who then hands him a piece of paper. Even then, at such an omnipresent view, he cannot find a boy with a red streak running through his hair, smiling at him in the audience.

Scaramouche does not need to search for long though, because as he sits down, he already knows the answer. Kazuha sought the furthest depths of knowledge, but in the end, knowledge was the one that consumed him. No amount of science, research, or medicine could stop his descent into madness, his slow torturous climb toward death.

Universe H-16 is already gone. Scaramouche does not need to check there.

The vastness of space surrounds him and it has no end. A blanket of stars rests beneath his feet, but loose threads threaten to unravel the whole thing.

Scaramouche sits down and stares at the newspapers that have piled on his office desk. He sweeps them off, and the mahogany table reveals itself. Scaramouche props his pocket watch open, and the hands are relentless, faster and faster by each moment. The watch rattles on his desk, jittering all over the wooden surface.

"Welcome back sir," His butler stands by the doorway. Perfectly poised as always, because the butler is just a machine.

"If I go up there,” asks Scaramouche, almost pleading, “will I see him again?”

"Sir, I don't understand what you're trying to say."

"Don't lie to me!" Scaramouche pounds his fist on the desk. Reality shakes.

“If I go up there,” Scaramouche asks again. His hand shakes as he points to the ceiling. It’s empty and only the darkness of the space fills. But a single line runs across it, almost like a crack that threatens to split the sky, “will I see him again?”

"If you go there, you can never return,” the butler recites, like an old practiced instruction manual. “Your creator went up there, and she has never returned.”

Scaramouche smiles, that confirmation is all he needs. He reaches toward his ceiling, and the moment his hand brushes the crack, his vision goes black.

In Universe 1, he is nobody- he has no background, no family, and no name.

The rain is relentless, pounding every inch of his body. He cries, and the sky cries for him too. Water splashes across his face and he can’t tell anymore if it’s the rain or his tears. Lightning is the ultimate force of nature, and it roars like a hungry lion. It dances across the sky, striking all those who oppose eternity. So strong is its will, that it tints the fog violet, and violet is all he can see.

He reaches for the stars, but they are too far away for him to grasp. Once, he was the lord of all universes who could touch every star he wished, but now he is nothing. The seams of his porcelain origin and creaking joints are all he has in this universe,

In this universe, he has been stripped completely bare.

The grass is tinted the palest shade of blue, and Naku Weed is the only hint of color. The tri-toned leaves are everywhere too, hanging on for dear life against the gale.

"It's dangerous to be here."

He closes his eyes and prepares himself one more time. He stands up to properly greet the newcomer with a slight smile and a red streak through his hair. In every universe, he is met with the same thing.

"I was preparing to leave soon, any suggestions on where I can spend the night?" he asks. It takes everything to stop his voice from shaking. He knows everything about the person in front of him, but this stranger knows nothing about him.

"There's an inn just down the road, I can guide you there," The newcomer offers. "May I know your name?"

“I-”

He has no name.

(I wish to see the world someday, a wanderlust samurai tells him.

My dream you ask? I suppose it would be to wander the world.

The pursuit of knowledge is endless, a student confesses to him, only when I have roamed the world can my knowledge be complete.

When this war is over, a revolutionary’s eyes glisten with a burning passion, I want to see what else this world has to offer.)

“Wanderer,” he says. Rolls of memories play in his mind, the slow unwinding of film as everything he’s ever experienced collapses into a single moment. “I am Wanderer.”

“Kazuha,” the stranger offers back.

The wind lashes against Wanderer and the storm bellows with anger. His hair is swept up in the breeze, but even though fibers of violet cover his vision, Wanderer can still see crimson eyes that stare into his soul.

“You really don’t know anything,” Kazuha chuckles.

The sky is dark, as dark as the endless night will ever be. Tonight, not a single star deigns its presence upon mere mortals. Even the moon has hidden itself away.

“I don’t remember much of anything,” Wanderer admits. He has memories, but they have become faint. Every day, another face or voice disappears, eroded by the eternity of time. But he has Kazuha, who smiles with him, who explains everything with gentle patience, and that is enough.

“It’s alright. I can explain it to you,” says Kazuha. However, he cannot hide the venom that drips in his voice.“The Raiden Shogun is the ruler of Inazuma, the most powerful. Her will is eternal, and nobody can even stand up to her Musou no Hitachi, let alone dare go against her.”

“You hold a grudge against her,” Wanderer replies. A statement, not a question.

“She killed my friend,” Kazuha answers without hesitation, “One moment he was there. The next, the only thing left of him is a vision.”

“The blank vision you carry around?” asks Wanderer

“Yes,” Kazuha nods.

Kazuha once told him that only passion can ignite a vision, and that only a person with dreams of the utmost degree can receive the blessing of the gods. Wanderer has a vision that glows like the full moon, but he has no ambitions. He has no memories, no dreams for something more. He is simply just a wanderer.

“Why did she kill your friend?” Once Wanderer starts asking, he cannot stop.

“The Raiden Shogun cares for nothing in this world except for eternity..”

“But that’s impossible,” Wanderer adds, “Everything must come to an end. Reality will someday fall apart.” The truth of it stems from the very soul of his being. Why? Wanderer isn’t sure. It’s as if he carried such a thought with him the whole time.

Kazuha shrugs, “Maybe, it’s not my place to decide.”

“The Raiden Shogun is a pitiful excuse of an existence. Why does she strive for eternity? Eternity holds nothing but pain.”

Time moves too quickly for Wanderer to keep track of. The passage of it is relentless, and it's something he cannot keep up with. He isn’t sure why, for all his memories are gone. Anything that could’ve reminded him of whom he once was, is but a figment of his imagination. It doesn’t matter though, because time does not stop for him to think.

Except now, time has been forcibly stopped. The sheer presence of the Raiden Shogun is enough for the world to turn dark, the mightiness of a god’s right hand. She comes behind Traveler, wielding a sword of lightning against her.

Kazuha is already there when Wanderer blinks again. His own sword is against the Shogun’s, and an additional electro vision is the only extra help he has. The Shogun is merciless and she presses even harder, trying to squash Kazuha as if he was a pest.

Their eyes meet, Wanderer’s and hers. In an instant, Scaramouche remembers everything. Every single conversation he ever had, every memory he once gave up, and every time he reintroduced himself to Kazuha, he remembered. In the same instant, Wanderer forgets everything.

Also in that instant, the Raiden Shogun remembered, then forgot a life she once lived. But all it takes is an instant for Kazuha to overcome the Shogun.

She steps back from his slash and turns to leave.

Traveler and the rest of the crew run up to Kazuha. They fret over him, but he waves them off as if his victory over a god holds no bearing in his mind.

But Wanderer does not move because he’s drowning, the stones tied to his feet threatening to drag him to the murky depths.

Kazuha looks at him, and Wanderer stares back. He doesn’t feel anything, except a deep sense of dread. Wanderer isn’t even sure if his mechanical heart, his false soul, can even feel something else. He loathes how like all humans, Kazuha is so fragile. How one moment he’s there, and the next he is not. It feels as if he’s chasing Kazuha, across the world, across all universes, and across eternity, trying to grasp onto something that’s out of his reach.

The war is over. The Raiden Shogun has given up on eternity.

Fireworks light up the sky as the people of Watatsumi Island cheer at their newfound freedom. The jutting coral and bubbles that float through the air give the entire place a dream-like quality.

Wanderer sits beside Kazuha, who is busy roasting fish in the small fire pit.

“Where to next?” Wanderer asks. It’s a simple rhythm he’s gotten used to, one where they never stay in one place for long. It’s a rhythm that a simple wanderer like him adores. In the grand scheme of things, his existence is meaningless, so the most he can do is search for his meaning.

“I’m tired,” replies Kazuha. He turns the fish around, revealing the slightly charred underside.

“What?”

“The Shogunate offered me a position and asked me to assume the duties of the Kaedehara Clan,” Kazuha stares into the fire, watching the smoke rise from the leaping flames. “We don’t have to run away anymore. We won’t have to fear anymore. We can live out the rest of our days in peace.”

Tears threaten to spill from Kazuha’s eyes as he finally looks at Wanderer, “My father’s dream, it will finally be complete.”

“What about your dreams?” Wanderer asks. He tries his best to stop his voice from shaking, “What happened to our dream of wandering the world? I thought you were searching for something?”

“I’m not searching for anything though, my life is complete,” Kazuha says. There’s a hint of curiosity in his voice, wondering why Wanderer would bring such a thing up.

“And wandering the world?” continues Kazuha. “That’s a childish dream. There’s an infinite number of places to go, an infinite number of universes perhaps. Even if I was searching for something, there is no guarantee I will find it.”

Wanderer doesn’t wait to hear the rest of it, because he remembers now. Everything comes flooding back. He remembers every single person who went by the name of Kaedehara Kazuha, and every single one was the same.

He grabs Kazuha’s neck and pushes him to the floor. Kazuha struggles for air and tears fall from Wanderer’s face. The people of Watatsumi Island rush toward him, but they will never reach. A pocket watch sits where Wanderer’s heart is supposed to be- a gold one passed down as a family heirloom. It ticks so slowly to the point where the passage of time is almost nonexistent.

“You are not Kazuha,” Scaramouche cries. It’s chilling, the raw pain in his voice. Scaramouche has never been hurt so deeply before, as if he constructed a heart from scratch, and then it was ripped apart. “Kazuha would never give up on his dreams.”

Seams of light spread across Kazuha’s skin as the facade called Kaedehara Kazuha, created by Scaramouche's deepest dreams, falls apart.

“Give him back!” screams Scaramouche. This time, he isn’t talking to Kazuha, but the universe who holds him down. He lets go of Kazuha and looks up at the night sky instead. The stars that twinkle within, mock his very existence

“You took everything away from me!”

Even in Universe 1, a universe that Scaramouche cannot control, it is still undeniable that he is the lord of every other universe. So he calls on them, pulling the strings like a puppet master directing his puppets. His power is weak, but his will is unbending. He calls on them, hoping to find one where a real Kazuha exists.

The ground shakes as universes are pulled up to Universe 1 by Scaramouche, but Universe 1 retaliates with all its might. Scaramouche tugs and tugs, and he cries. Just one universe where the real Kazuha exists is enough for him.

It doesn't work. Scaramouche loses control. The universes that he is supposed to rule over, take charge of him instead. The strings wrap around Scaramouche, holding him so he can't move.

The ground cracks open, and Scaramouche is pulled into the void, falling, falling, and falling. More universes join the fray and wrap around him, squeezing his body tighter and tighter. Scaramouche is trapped in a web that he wove.

Scaramouche cannot feel physical pain, but his body, made of porcelain glass, cannot withstand the pressure. So this is how a god dies, strangled by his own subjects.

He closes his eyes and doesn’t resist, even as his body and soul crack. There is nothing in his life worth living an eternity for anymore. Scaramouche takes his final breath.

Then he takes another breath, then another. He finds himself surrounded by total darkness, a place where even the stars do not reach. Above, he can see the lighting of Universe 1 thundering against the sky. Below, he can see his office and the universes slithering their way back to the floor.

Scaramouche is standing in some horrid limbo between the two, and it feels like he’s falling.

“Scaramouche,” a voice utters. It’s the same one that Scaramouche hears every time.

“Kazuha,” Scaramouche says back.

Kazuha is standing in front of him, holding strands of universes that he ripped off Scaramouche’s chest. Kazuha opens his hands and the loose threads fall back down to wherever they came from.

“I finally found you,” whispers Kazuha.

This Kazuha is different from the rest. His eyes shine with pain, the same kind that Scaramouche buries deep within his soul. This Kazuha, is the culmination of every person by the name of Kaedehara Kazuha to ever exist. This Kazuha, who has existed in every universe, carries the weight of eternity.

The ground cracks and Kazuha jumps forward to avoid falling. Kazuha stands mere inches away from Scaramouche and it makes him falter. Thunder roars above and the ground beneath them continues to break away.

“Why were you looking for me,” Scaramouche asks.

“In the universe up there,” Kazuha says, “I met a wanderer who shone like the stars. But he left me.”

It’s quiet as Scaramouche is left speechless. Ten thousand things he has to say, but he only has the opportunity to utter one.

“Did you follow me here?”

“I suppose,” says Kazuha. Even when the reality around them is falling apart, Kazuha’s voice does not falter. He is still soft-spoken like Scaramouche remembers, but this time, his voice carries unimaginable pain.

“The passage of time is strange,” Kazuha steps closer. He speaks in a hushed tone, but still, every word rings with perfect clarity. “When you were pleading with the universe, I was already falling, like a star dropping out of the sky. I fell into every single universe to ever exist, and I lived and suffered through all of them.”

“I met you in some of them,” Even when Kazuha smiles, the agony from the countless lives he’s lived cannot be hidden. “ One where I was a drug dealer. Another where I was a student. I think I was a revolutionary in one of them too.”

“It doesn’t matter though,” Kazuha grabs Scaramouche’s hand. The platform they are standing on has almost entirely eroded and the debris slams into Scaramouche’s office and the universes beneath. “I finally found you.”

Kazuha buries his head in Scaramouche’s chest, and Scaramouche embraces Kazuha even tighter. Tears slide down his face and they drip down, like the pitter-patter of rain. Rocks and lighting shred the fabric of reality as Universe 1 threatens to come crashing down.

Together, they wait for the end.

“Take this,” The words bounce around in Scaramouche’s hollow chest.

He holds out a pocket watch, made from gold of the highest quality by the most skilled craftsmen. Scaramouche would consider it a family heirloom, but he offers it to Kazuha.

The ticking of the watch has stopped. So much chaos is there in the universe, that the mechanical device, whose sole job is to keep track of it, is defeated.

“What are you doing?” yells Kazuha.

Scaramouche never responds, he just smiles. Scaramouche lunges toward Kazuha and kisses him, the sweetest thing in the world, yet also the most terrible. He presses the pocket watch into Kazuha’s hand and then breaks away.

The ledge that Scaramouche is standing on cracks, and he falls into the void.

“Once upon a time, there was a lonely woman. She was a special woman, whose job called for something a normal person could never give. She loved her work, but it also made her so lonely. So, she took a piece of every universe and stitched them together to create a son. The End.”

“You’re bad at telling stories,” Scaramouche pouts. He is but a youngling, free from the burden of eternity.

His mother chuckles and continues to brush his hair.

“Is the woman less lonely?” asks Young Scaramouche.

The comb stops, a pause that lasts far too long, before the brushing starts again. “I suppose she is.”

“Won’t the universes fall apart because the woman took from them?” Young Scaramouche asks again. “I read in a book somewhere that you can’t take matter away from a system.”

“You’re too smart for your own good,” His mother says in a light-hearted way. “The universes were falling apart anyway.”

“But that will speed it. The net creation of universes is negative,” Young Scaramouche furrows his brow. “But I suppose if the pieces that were used to make her son were returned to the universes, everything would be alright.”

“The woman would never do that though,” says his mother. “She loves her son far too much.”

“Does she though?” Young Scaramouche muses. “I bet that wasn’t part of the story and you just made it up.”

His mother chuckles, “She is his mother. Of course, she loves him.”

Young Scaramouche doesn’t argue any further. Instead, he’s become distracted by the way the floor of his mother’s office is more like a blanket, and that he can twist it in all sorts of ways.

“Don’t do that,” His mother reprimands. “Here I have a present for you.”

She pulls out a package from her pocket and hands it to Scaramouche. He quickly tears the paper open and finds gold inside. He pops the lid open and marvels how the hands of the watch seem to be keeping track of time, something he couldn’t quite understand.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it.”

To breathe is to be in pain, Kazuha decides.

He stares at the gold pocket watch that’s ticking in his hand. It’s slow and even, like how a clock is supposed to move. Kazuha isn’t sure why he still has this timepiece. Nothing is interesting about it except for the small engraving around it that reads, ‘For Kazuha, From…’. The identity of the mystery sender is unknown, probably a worthless gift.

But every time, Kazuha tries to throw it away. He is inexplicably drawn back to it.

Kazuha shuts the lid with a snap and looks up.

“What’s the issue this time?” Kazuha snaps at the butler standing by the doorway.

“Sir, there’s an anomaly in Universe X-21318. We’d like you to investigate,” says the butler while handing Kazuha a report. “It’s a person this time. Not too tall, violet eyes and hair. I believe he goes by the name Scaramouche.”