Chapter Text
With the last of the galaxies fizzled away, the only thing left for Syenite to do is light the campfire in front of them. Even in this unfamiliar place, the only place left, Syenite knows what’s going to happen. Well, not exactly what’s going to happen, but they know this is where their story ends. No more time loops. No more Hearthians. No more Nomai. No more Inhabitants. Syenite can only hope that just because this is the end of their universe, it wouldn’t be the end of everything. Maybe there was a way the story could go on without them.
The fire is warm. For some reason, Syenite had expected otherwise. They can feel the heat through the layers of their suit, a comfortable warmth that reminds them of home. They blink away tears, and with each blink, a forest seems to grow from nothing. More and more trees sprout in the milliseconds Syenite can’t see until their campfire sits in the center of a proper forest clearing. The last source of light in the universe.
They slowly move their arms to hug themself, not bothering to keep quiet as tears fall down their cheeks. It wasn’t like there was anyone else to hear them. At the end of the universe, Syenite is alone.
“Hello.”
Syenite gasps, nearly tripping over their feet in their surprise. Across the campfire, they can see the carefully carved mask of a Nomai, head tilted at an angle as if to mimic curiosity. Like Syenite is the one who isn’t supposed to be here. Their robes lack the red, green, and gold of Solanum’s outfit, the color scheme for all of the Nomai who had the chance to properly settle in the Hearthian’s home solar system.
Instead of gold, it’s silver, with white lining the dark purple fabric interspersed with gray lines. This is the outfit of the Nomai who never got the chance to escape Dark Bramble, and one of them is standing in front of Syenite.
“Escall?” Syenite asks, leaning forward. Maybe Secca or Din? It was impossible, but Syenite had long since learned the term ‘impossible’ was a lot more flexible than one would think.
“No, not quite.” The Nomai responds, laughing softly. Their voice is gentle, the way Gneiss speaks when talking to a sick hatchling. The thought of home makes Syenite’s stomach turn. “Sit down.”
“How can you speak my language?” Syenite says as they obey. The Nomai sits down across from them, laying their staff on the dirt that seems to shift every time Syenite blinks.
“I’m sure you have a lot of questions. You wouldn’t have gotten this far if you weren’t curious.” The Nomai responds. Syenite’s fingers itch to write some of this down in their ship log, even though their ship is gone. For now, all they can do is give the Nomai their full attention and hope it’s worth something.
“I believe the first thing I should say is that I’m not truly a Nomai.” The not-Nomai says. Syenite’s eyes narrows in disbelief. “I chose to appear as a Nomai, but I could just as easily appear to be a Hearthian, like you, or some other, far-off alien species. I simply assumed a Nomai would be best for this scenario.”
Syenite’s mind is already putting together the puzzle pieces, the way they’d done for who knows how many loops, but they need to know for sure. “So who are you?”
“I’m the Eye of the Universe.”
Syenite can feel their mind shatter. It’s impossible, completely, utterly impossible—and yet as their jaw drops, their brain breaking is a very familiar feeling. They felt it the first time they died, when they found what was waiting inside the Interloper, when they got into the Sun Station, when they finally found their way into the Ash Twin Project. When they realized what they had to do to end the time loops. When they saw the Eye of the Universe for the first time. As they’re seeing it for the second time, apparently.
“I don’t– but you– I thought–” Syenite is suddenly very glad they’re sitting down. They let out a laugh, a little incredulous, a little manic. The Eye of the Universe watches them from behind the Nomai mask. All this time, trying to wrap their head around the fact that the universe wasn’t kind nor cruel, just there, and, well, there it is. Right there. Staring at them.
“I think I’m having a hallucination at the end of the universe.” Syenite laughs. “Or maybe this was all just one big dream.”
“You have a very creative imagination.” The Eye of the Universe responds. Syenite blinks, and the Nomai is replaced by– by them. By Syenite, sitting across the campfire, waving their gloved three-fingered hand. They’re wearing their EVA suit, and the visor makes the face impossible to see, but it is still decidedly their EVA suit. It’s not hard to imagine taking the helmet off and seeing a mirror image.
Syenite giggles. They can’t help it, the sound just escapes their mouth, and their duplicate’s chest shakes like they might be silently laughing along too. The Eye of the Universe is quantum. Not just quantum, the source of all the uncertainty in their solar system, in their universe. It makes sense that they’d be able to change from Nomai to Hearthian in the blink of an eye. Gabbro would have loved to see it.
With that thought, Syenite blinks again, and now it’s Gabbro sitting there, head tilted almost mischeviously. Syenite laughs louder, and they bend over where they’re sitting with the way their chest aches for air, and suddenly tears are streaming down their face as they sob. Gabbro is dead. Syenite didn’t tell them the loops were ending. They just left. They witnessed their star explode from the safety of the Eye of the Universe, knowing it was the end of everything they loved, and now Gabbro is dead.
There’s a hand on their back, and out of the corner of their eyes, Syenite can see that the form of the dark-robed Nomai has returned. “S-Sorry,” Syenite chokes out, but they can’t stop the tears. They can only hope the Eye of the Universe doesn’t mind having to sit there as Syenite grieves all over again.
“Too soon, then.” The Eye of the Universe says, remorse potent in their voice. “I aplogize.”
The hand rubbing up and down Syenite’s back is soothing, but it still takes several minutes for the astronaut to stifle their tears. Their chest is still shaking when they respond. “It’s okay. You– You didn’t know.”
The Eye of the Universe doesn’t respond, and they don't move away. Syenite is grateful for their presence, but there’s still a storm ongoing in their mind. They have been alone for so long, and sure, Timber Hearth was populated, but they hadn’t felt like real people in a long time. Gabbro was—
Well. Gabbro was better, but they may as well have been tied to their hammock. They never complained, always encouraged Syenite to talk about what they found or how they were feeling, but they never spoke about themself, how they were feeling, what they wanted. As much as Syenite hated to admit it, there was a build-up of resentment, because– because Gabbro never did anything. Nothing besides sit there and offer a comforting word as Syenite struggled.
It was the same kind of resentment Syenite held for the Eye of the Universe right now. They were right there, all along. They could have done something, and they chose not to. Doing nothing was as much of a choice as doing something, couldn’t they understand that? Why didn’t you do anything to help me?
By the time Syenite realized how to end the loops, they hadn’t visited Gabbro in... so long. They didn’t visit them once in the following loops, wasting time, trying to find other solutions. Syenite wasn’t sure if their company would have helped or only made the loneliness worse.
“I want to go home.” Syenite’s voice cracks as they speak. The Eye of the Universe stays by their side as they speak, keeping their hand on their back. “I want to see Gabbro again. And Hal, and Feldspar, and Gossan, and Chert, and Riebeck, and Esker, and Marl, and Tuff, and— I really, really, really want to go home.” They bend over until their visor hits the dirt in front of the campfire, and the tears start all over again.
Quiet, weak sobs come from Syenite. They know it’s too late. They know it’s not a dream. There isn’t a way out of this. There’s no time loop preparing to send them back in time so they can try it all over again. If there was, Syenite would be devastated anyways. They’re so sick of time loops.
“I miss Timber Hearth.” Syenite says as their tears dry out. They know they’re just repeating the same things, but what else are they supposed to say? Even though they’re probably older than most of the Hearthians now, they feel like the hatchling everyone thought of them as. They can’t let go. “I want to go home.”
“Are you sure?” The Eye of the Universe asks.
Syenite raises their head from the ground, glaring at them from behind their visor with exhausted, red-rimmed eyes. “Of course I’m sure!” They scowl. “My best friend has been a script for– for at least nine million loops! Gossan is–” Syenite cuts themself off. Gossan isn’t. Not anymore. “Of course I’m sure.”
“But you’re not the same person anymore.” Despite the heat in Syenite’s voice, the Eye of the Universe sounds nothing but patient, gently correcting an oversight. “If you go back home, you’ll be as much a stranger to them as the Inhabitants were to you. How much have you changed since the Ash Twin Project activated?”
“I don’t care. They’re still my family. I’d give anything to go back.” Syenite sniffles, looking back at the campfire. “It doesn’t matter anyways. They’re gone.”
The Eye of the Universe hums in response. The sound reminds Syenite of the quantum signals they’d followed across the solar system. Of course it does. The Eye of the Universe continues to rub Syenite’s back, and Syenite doesn’t bother moving away. The frustration in Syenite’s mind fizzles away like the galaxies of the universe.
They’re so tired. So exhausted. They wish they could go back to Feldspar, or Hal, or Gossan, or– or Gabbro, and just let themself fall apart, even though that’s all they’ve been doing lately. Even though that’s all anything’s been doing lately. Syenite lets out a weak snort at the thought. They wish they could go home, one last time, even though it would make things worse when they finally have to let go again. They don’t want things to end like this.
“How about a song?” The Eye of the Universe asks. Syenite looks over at them again, biting their tongue and the urge to say ‘stuff it.’ They wouldn’t mean it, anyways.
“I don’t have an instrument. I wouldn’t know how to play one even if I did.” Syenite mumbles as they move to hold their head in their hands. It’s not a proper excuse, lack of an instrument never stopped Esker from whistling or Moraine from singing, but it’s the only one they have.
“You had all the time in the universe, and you didn’t learn how to play an instrument?” The Eye of the Universe teases, but their voice is still gentle, still soft. Syenite can tell they’re trying to make them feel better, or at least they think so. “No time like the present, right?” Which is a hilariously ironic thing to say, considering there might be no such thing as time here.
The Eye of the Universe finally pulls their hand away from Syenite’s back, handing them an instrument case they didn’t have a blink ago. The campfire crackles in the silence between the pair as Syenite carefully reaches out, pulling the case into their lap and carefully undoing the latches keeping it shut.
The fiddle inside is made of something Syenite isn’t familiar with. It reminds them of the material the Vessel was built with, though how someone could carve it into the intricate shape of an instrument, Syenite doesn’t know. The hair on the bow is the dark purple color of the Nomai’s robes, and every inch of the instrument, the bow, the case, it’s all flawless. Syenite is scared to touch it with their imperfect, messy, clumsy hands, but they still pick the fiddle up, holding it as gently as they can.
“Hold it like this, with this end resting on your shoulder.” The Eye of the Universe says, carefully showing them the proper way to hold both the fiddle and the bow. “Back straight. Here, use the bow, play a few notes.”
It’s a hard feeling to describe, playing simple notes on an impossible stranger’s instrument in a place that reminds them of home in the way the Quantum Moon’s imitation of Timber Hearth does. Syenite’s eyes fill up with tears again, and they have to pause as their vision goes blurry. The Eye of the Universe waits patiently for them to resume.
Syenite isn’t sure how the Eye of the Universe knows the Traveler’s Song, but it fits. It makes sense, in the way none of it makes sense so hey, might as well. The Eye of the Universe patiently shows them the correct fingers to use to push down on certain strings, the timing of the song, the way you can shake your finger to give the note vibrato for extra flair, though that’s not necessary for such a simple tune.
The feeling rising as Syenite grows more familiar with both the instrument and the song is– it’s not closure, not really. Maybe just calm would work. It’s not okay. Their story is over. But for now, Syenite has an instrument in their hand and a tune to play.
They don’t notice their eyes closing as the song becomes more familiar, feeling the vibration of the strings under their fingers and playing the song they’d heard around the campfire their whole life. When Syenite pauses, opens their eyes, the Eye of the Universe is gone. Across the campfire sits a lone rocking chair, one that Syenite knows like the back of their hand. A genuine smile spreads across their face. One last song before the end of the universe.
—
When Syenite wakes up, they wake up with a gasp and the knowledge that they’re supposed to be dead. They choke on nothing, and then they choke on a sob, chest shaking with the intensity of it. Every single inch of them aches and it all hurts but they have experienced so much worse and it’s nowhere close to the reason they’re crying.
Within seconds Syenite is trying to stand up, vision blurry and head pounding and oh stars they are dizzy, they shouldn’t have stood up so fast. Somebody’s hands try to push them back down, and they can hear a familiar voice but they can’t recognize the words or who the voice might belong to.
A hand cups their face, and the touch is so gentle Syenite hesitates. Their skin aches for the warmth of company, but their brain knows it won’t last. Nothing lasts forever. That message may as well have been carved into their skin.
Syenite sits down, and this time they can recognize that it’s a mattress below them instead of hard ground, a soft blanket instead of a sleeping bag, and a room built of wood instead of a sky already empty of stars. There’s a door, on the other side of the small room they can’t quite recognize.
They’re supposed to be dead. They saw the new universe, saw how beautiful it was, and then they woke up anyways.
Something went wrong at the end of the universe. Something must have gone horribly, awfully wrong, and Syenite doesn’t know how to fix it.
Syenite lunges for the door. Their feet trip over themselves and the other Hearthian in the room lets out a shout of surprise, but they still barrel through the door and manage to take a few steps before they collapse to their knees. They look up at the sky, and they see the stars.
The night sky is full of them.
They don’t see the stars for long. Their vision becomes blurred by tears again, and they can hear someone shouting, but they don’t look away. Even though they can only barely see blurs of light now, more like the fading galaxies in the Ancient Grove than stars now, and the blurry purple shape of Brittle Hollow beginning to rise about the horizon line, they can’t tear their eyes away from the sky.
Somebody is saying something to Syenite. They get picked up and they’re limp like a bag of heavy stones.
“Syenite?” Someone says.
Syenite lets their eyes close, and their brain shuts off.
—
When Syenite wakes up, it’s with a long, deep breath and the knowledge that they’re supposed to be dead. They’re not sure where they are, but they know something went wrong. The sky isn’t above them, replaced by a wooden roof, and it makes them more claustrophobic than the caves on Ember Twin.
It takes effort to sit up, like they’re swimming through honey. Their thoughts are clunky and uncomfortable, refusing to fit in their brain long enough to become coherent. They float away on some nonexistent breeze, fizzling out like embers. Like stars. Like galaxies.
“Hey, hatchling.” Someone says, putting a careful hand on their back. “Gave us quite the scare.”
“What?” Syenite responds on instinct, but their mouth doesn’t cooperate and it’s just an incoherent mumble that can barely be recognized as an attempt at speech. The bed—yes, that’s a bed beneath them—dips with the weight of someone else sitting down, and Syenite blinks, trying to recognize the fuzzy face in front of them.
“It’s alright, you’re safe. I’ve got you.” They say, and it’s a phrase Syenite has heard dozens of times, always in the exact same voice.
“Gossan?” Syenite mumbles.
“I’m here, hatchling.” Gossan responds. “What hurts?”
Syenite doesn’t respond, leaning into their flight coach and letting out a sigh as arms wrap around their torso. It’s nice to feel like a hatchling again, even though it won’t last. Syenite wonders how much the night sky has changed since they fell asleep. They probably don’t have long left in the loop.
“Don’t run off this time, okay?” Gossan laughs quietly, but Syenite can hear so clearly the worry in their voice. “I almost had a heart attack, and then I would have been stuck in this cabin next to you.”
They would have been okay. The Ash Twin Project would make sure of that.
“I bet you’d find some way to get some fun out of it, though.” Gossan says, and they keep talking, but Syenite is exhausted, and it takes so much effort to make sense of the words. They hope the loop resets soon. They hope the fall asleep and wake up with Giant’s Deep above them. They hope they fall asleep and never wake up, and the story continues without them.
—
When Syenite wakes up, it’s with a short gasp and the knowledge that they’re supposed to be dead. The loop hasn’t reset yet, which is odd. Normally when Syenite passes out they don’t even get the chance to wake up once before the sun explodes, let alone twice. Or, three times? Has it been three times? Their memories are still fuzzy.
Somebody is playing a guitar nearby. Syenite sits up. It’s easier this time, at least, the pounding of their head seeming muffled now.
“Easy, space cadet.” Someone says. Syenite turns their head and they see Gneiss sitting on a chair nearby, holding the guitar on their lap. “Do you know where you are?”
It takes several seconds for Syenite to process the question, and it takes effort to look around and take everything in. There’s a first aid kit on a shelf, rations, the ever-constant marshmallows.
“I’m in my ship.” Syenite’s voice slurs as they speak.
“Not quite.” Gneiss says, and Syenite recognizes the way their face creases with worry the way they might remember a dream.
“I’m...” Syenite narrows their eyes, looking around more. They can see bottles labelled with things like ‘painkiller’ or ‘sleep aid’ and empty syringes and a bin labelled with ‘USED SYRINGES ONLY’. A few stuffed animals, for if the hatchlings got scared. A stuffed animal sits on the bed beside Syenite. “I’m in the medical cabin.”
“That’s right.” Gneiss’s worry melts away into a smile of relief as they pluck the strings of their guitar.
Syenite can remember a loop where they walked towards their ship, only for it to get impacted by the probe aimed directly at the landing pad by the Orbital Probe Cannon. The entire launch tower had collapsed, their ship had exploded, and Syenite never knew if they lived through that loop, unconscious but alive, or if they died then and there. Maybe that happened again, though Syenite wants to believe they would have remembered the start of the loop if it did.
Either way, it still doesn’t explain why they’re back on Timber Hearth. They still don’t know what happened at the Eye of the Universe.
“Are you in pain? Do you want some painkillers?” Gneiss asks.
“No.” Syenite lies, rubbing at their face. It’s been so long since they spent a loop on Timber Hearth. Are they saying things right? Are they making the right expressions? Do they need to be saying more, saying less? They don’t remember who they were before the loops, but everyone else does.
“You don’t need to lie in order to seem brave, hatchling.” Gneiss gently corrects. “You had a seizure. We don’t know what caused it, but it’s normal to be sore and confused.”
“Seizure?” Syenite repeats. That’s new. They should probably be worried, but right now they’re just curious about what caused it and if it’ll happen again.
“Slate says you were still asleep when it started.” Gneiss says. “Do you remember anything?”
Syenite remembers the Eye of the Universe. Talking to it. The Traveler’s Song. The end. The beginning.
“No.”
“Don’t worry too much about it, hatchling, memory loss is normal. I can grab you some food, if you’d like. I’m sure you’re hungry, and you need food before you can have the painkillers.” Gneiss sets the guitar to the side, and they’re getting up before Syenite nods in confirmation. “Stay in bed, Syenite, I’ll be back soon.”
Gneiss softly closes the door behind them, the click of the latch nearly silent. Syenite’s head is still fuzzy, but they immediately go to the window, opening it and climbing out. They don’t need to make a perfect getaway, they just need to stay away from the village until the loop ends. It won’t be long.
Through the window is the cemetery, though Syenite doesn’t give so much as a glance towards the headstones as they pass them, gaze locked onto the crater wall in front of them. Their EVA suit would make scaling the steep cliff easier, but it’s not impossible to do without it.
Syenite doesn’t notice the way their muscles ache as they scale the stone cliffside, so used to the feeling of exhaustion, not until they nearly collapse onto a stone ledge halfway up. The screaming of their muscles suddenly feels all too present, and they have to just sit there, waiting for the pain to pass. Syenite wants to scream with frustration.
They lay there for who knows how long, breathing in, breathing out, keeping themself calm. The rhythm is carved into their memory like the imitation of a Nomai carved into stone, and it’s so easy to let the world around them disappear. The loop will be over soon, and Syenite will finally be able to figure out what went wrong.
“Syenite!” Gossan’s voice snaps them out of their meditation. “Syenite, where are you!?”
“Sy!” Syenite’s heart skips a beat at the sound of Hal’s voice in the distance. They swallow down what tastes like blood, force themself to sit up. Their arms are shaking. Syenite doesn’t lie to themself, they know they want to see Hal again, so, so badly. But they can’t. Hal wouldn’t be able to stand looking at the stranger in front of them.
Syenite more drags themself up the cliffside than climbs it. Their limbs shake violently, their muscles scream with exhaustion, but Syenite keeps going. They hear people calling their name, looking for them. They have to get away.
Syenite’s hand slips.
Syenite falls.
They close their eyes, and hope it doesn’t hurt.
It hurts.
Their right foot takes most of the impact, and bone snaps. There’s a choked scream of pain that Syenite can’t stop, and then they’re falling further, down the rest of the cliffside. It ends up being more of a jagged slide down the curved rock wall, and Syenite uses their left foot to hit the ground. Pain shoots through them, and they stumble forward, putting weight on their other foot, and their vision goes white as they fall and their chest impacts with the ground.
It’s all just pain, for a while, and then it dies down, and Syenite can hear footsteps approaching. Honestly, Syenite should have just tried to land on their head. At least that would have made it quick.
Syenite can’t bring themself to get back up, knowing whatever they broke would make it impossible, anyways. Still, Syenite pushes themself to lay on their back, finally able to look up at the sky.
It’s beautiful. Syenite can pick out the individual constellations.
It should be empty. Why isn’t it empty?
“Syenite– oh stars.” A voice says. Someone—Hal, it’s Hal, why does it have to be Hal?—kneels down at Syenite’s side. “Oh, geez. Syenite, I don’t– oh no.” They sound like they’re about to start crying, and Syenite doesn’t know what to say.
“It’s gonna be okay, Syenite.” Hal’s voice makes it clear they’re in tears. Syenite doesn’t need to look away from the sky to know that. “Gossan! They– they’re over here! They’re hurt!”
Syenite blinks, and the quantum moon blocks their view of the stars. It sings its lonely song, calling to anyone willing to listen, like Feldspar with their harmonica. It is then that everything clicks.
They don’t want to believe it. They don’t know what else makes sense. It seems like a miracle. It seems so profoundly unfair.
Why do they get the chance to live just when they had finally accepted they were doomed to die?
Their chest gets tight with fear, choking them more thoroughly than sand in their throat. They don’t know how to exist without the comfort of a time loop to ensure everything will remain the same. They gasp for breaths that just won’t come, and Hal grabs Syenite’s hand.
“Focus on me, Syenite, focus.” Hal says, voice tense. Syenite’s vision goes blurry, making it impossible for them to do what Hal asks of them, and they can’t help but wish it was Gabbro instead. Gabbro’s mere presence would help Syenite relax, but Gabbro has never been anywhere but Giant’s Deep. Syenite would have to find Gabbro on their own, with a broken something and no time loop as backup.
There’s fear, and frustration, and sadness, and hope, all building up in Syenite, and it’s too much. It’s the hope that makes them furious, more than anything. They tried so, so hard to hold onto it for so long, and they’d finally given up, and here it was again. Syenite doesn’t want to experience giving up again.
“What happened?” Someone asks. It sounds like Gossan, their boots crushing the grass beneath them as they approach.
“I have no idea, I just found them like this.” Hal responds. “I– I think they might have tried to climb out of the crater.
“Stars above.” Gossan whispers. They clear their throat, speaking louder, though their voice still sounds weak. “Syenite, you better have lost your mind to worry us like that.”
Syenite doesn’t respond. They stare up at the sky, at the quantum moon hovering above. They can almost hear its song.
“I’m so tired.” They say.
The quantum moon doesn’t respond. Hal and Gossan say something, but Syenite doesn’t hear it. They close their eyes.
—
When Syenite wakes up, it takes a long time for their consciousness to surface. They sit there, lying in bed, listening to several someones talking. Talking about them, Syenite thinks. They can’t be sure, with the way their brain can’t focus on the words. It feels like they’re experiencing everything through layers of blankets, and they can’t get themself free.
Syenite is not dead. The universe is not dead. They’re back home. The time loop is over.
They force their eyes open, staring at the ceiling. The wooden boards hiding the sky from view is blurry, and it takes several seconds to realize there are tears in their eyes. The time loop is over. The time loop is over and they’re alive to see it. They’re home. They need to tell Gabbro. They need to rescue Feldspar, they need to tell Solanum about the Nomai and try to bring her home, they need to set the prisoner free.
Syenite lets out a sob. Finally, these things will last. Finally, Syenite can do something that won’t be reset.
It almost hurts, the relief and the fear that they feel. They can’t mess it up this time. They can’t.
“Hey, hey, Sy, look at me.” Someone says, putting a hand on Syenite’s back, helping them sit up. Syenite’s tears are wiped away, and they can see the someone is Hal, looking down at them with that same mixture of relief and fear. “Where does it hurt?”
They can’t respond. Syenite’s chest shudders with another sob, and they don’t process what they’re doing when they grab onto Hal. Their hands idly try to pull their best friend closer, and they’re so tired it can barely be registered as a gentle tug, but Hal leans in anyways. Hal is careful as they wrap their arms around Syenite, and it’s not long before they’re sitting on the bed, crying right alongside them.
“I was so scared.” Hal whispers, tears falling from their cheeks. “You’re really stupid, you know that? I can’t believe you got yourself hurt. Again.”
Syenite’s chest tightens and somehow a giggle comes out instead of a sob. They want so badly to pretend none of it happened, that it was just a dream, but they have people that they need to save.
They have so much they need to do. But for now, Syenite hugs Hal as tight as they can, letting their tears flow.