Chapter Text
It’s been months since Ruan Mei has become an Aeon.
Most notably, the slowest months of Herta’s life.
For a woman known for her life being sporadic—ideas and research just a speck of dust in the multiple amber eras of experience she’d gone through, not one day passed where time didn’t feel like it was playing games with her. There was no amount of experiments for Herta to conduct for time to fly for just a moment. Every silence was filled with the absence of her. Every quiet buzz of the space station almost anticipating a snarky remark for Herta to make about… you.
But there was no one at the corner of her eye. Just the hairpin holding a lock in place, the pearl necklace that was a little too big for Herta clasped around her neck.
The Simulated Universe never accounted for future Aeons. Down to the very fundamentals of its code did Herta only account for the known 18. Why should she? There were no known instances of man becoming Aeon. And if it were to happen in the future—why should she let them?
Screwllum noticed the tiny differences in Herta’s demeanor first. Ruan Mei had said her goodbyes to the station a while back, Screwllum never truly understanding why until he noticed Herta’s behavior along the weeks. Almost everyone was left in the dark; only Herta and the Trailblazer were aware of her departure before she left, and even then, Stelle had to piece together everything herself as well.
It started with Herta’s speech. For the arrogant loud mouth she once was, even the least aware of scientists could tell that something was different. Sentences turned shorter, replies usually nonverbal, Herta’s eyes avoiding any contact.
Eye contact meant perceiving. Perceiving meant remembering.
Herta didn’t want to remember.
The second was Herta’s work. The Simulated Universe had never been so unpolished in the years that Screwllum had collaborated with it, nor has it been in the years that Stelle had been playtesting it. It was like Herta didn’t care anymore; Aeons were appearing out of thin air, Stelle had to deal with dozens more monsters than she was used to, Screwllum had to constantly fix the sloppy code that Herta seemed to type without thinking.
“Madam Herta,” Stelle knocked on the door to her laboratory. She spoke a little too softly—still worried about how Herta was dealing with Ruan Mei’s absence, not to mention her pre-existing irritation with the Simulated Universe as it is. “Um, Asta told me to give you something to eat. So I picked something up by the cafeteria.”
Silence. One more knock.
“Madam Herta?”
Click! The quiet turn of the metal door handle sounded out, the door creaking open as the tiniest slit opened through. Stelle could see Herta’s eyes—nearly bloodshot, but most notably, darkened. Her eyebags were those matching someone who hadn’t slept in weeks, the lady who once favored her beauty sleep so much suddenly falling from grace. It was almost cruel. For the Aeon’s above to sentence someone to the fate of loss.
“Come in.” Herta’s voice was raspy. Not quite those of a smoker, but certainly in contention. Her hair ruffled, dried remnants of tears on her face, and quite clearly in pain. Emotional, physical, maybe even spiritual.
“Um, here, I’ll leave the food on your table.” Stelle placed the tray of food on her desk. She had no words left to tell Herta, almost fearful about her reaction. It would be insensitive, for sure, but it didn’t help that her condition got so bad that even the Herta puppets had no clue what to do.
Stelle had left the room. Herta nodded once before she left. Both of them already knew that there wasn’t a chance that Herta could even get a bite of food in, not in this condition. Her throat felt sore. Head surging in pain from the hours of crying, fatigue from the sleep deprivation, not to mention her heart running a million miles a second since she’d been told of Ruan Mei’s departure. Herta sighed, pulled out the journal from the drawer under her desk and began writing.
“Dear Mei,” Herta could barely get the first few letters in without shedding a tear. She thought, after the hours—no, days of crying that she’d have none left in her to weep. But alas, Herta’s body was capable of a few too many things. “Our trailblazing friend brought me food today. I know you’d berate me for not eating, especially when it’s your food, but once again I have no appetite.”
Herta’s hand ached as she wrote. The pain burned, the weak muscles in her wrist enhanced by the restless nights she’d spend writing to an Aeon. “I’m sure you have uncovered dozens of unsolved mysteries you can’t wait to tell me in the afterlife. I, too, hope that once we get to see each other again that I have things to share with you as well.”
The tears continued staining the paper. Functionally unwriteable, but Herta found a way. “I have never experienced a grief as painful as I do with losing you. I’ve written before on how perplexing it felt, but to this day I am still baffled. I almost didn’t believe in grief as a concept, yet immediately after your loss, I understood straight away. I would have expected it to die down by now, but it feels like every day I spend with the ruse of normalcy, the days I spend crawling over in our bed are doubled.”
“Today is one of those days. As was the past week. I’m sure you’ve been wondering how the Simulated Universe is going, and I’m sure Screwllum is attending to it well. Nous bless his soul, for he is quite understanding in these… trying times. The anguish I feel extends to the whole station. For that, I apologize. Your creations are faring well. Asta has been taking care of them, and despite your best wishes, they have not been disposed of.”
Herta was scrambling for another fleeting thought in her mind to note down. This was the last piece of communication she had with Ruan Mei, the last method of contact they had in the mortal realm. Screwllum did offer to attempt to add Ruan Mei to the Simulated Universe, but Herta refused. That wouldn’t have been Ruan Mei. It just would’ve been a method to cope.
“I hope, as the Aeon of Origin, that you extend your love to our next life.”
“Ever yours, Herta.”
Herta placed the journal back in her drawer, placing the same pin that Ruan Mei had gifted her right on top. She sighed right as she changed into her lab coat, heading straight for the Simulated Universe. Her eyes stayed on the ground, refusing eye contact from anyone in the station, familiar face or not.
Herta hastily pressed the button to the entrance of the Simulated Universe, going through the same route that her little trailblazing friend had gone through hundreds of times before. She almost missed having to pester her to test the newest features, or teaming up with Ruan Mei to pester her together, but she didn’t want to add another article to the thousands of things that she could never feel for the rest of her life.
Her audiences with Nous never went anywhere. She didn’t expect this conversation to mean anything either—but she knew it would at least rack THEIR brain. Constantly being berated on the unsolved mysteries of the universe, all to culminate in questions about Origin?
“I’m sure you’ve been eagerly waiting for my return,” THEY do not respond. THEIR gaze on Herta is nearly speculatory, for a bunch of cogs and wires. “Ready for our chat?”
“██████.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard of Ruan Mei, haven’t you? I mentioned her many times in our chats.” THEY do not respond. Herta continues. “Do you know of Origin? Not the word, not the concept, the path.”
THEY have come with an answer. Herta understands. “Of course, the all-knowing droidhead would know exactly about Origin, don’t you? When did you learn about it, hm? Tell me everything.”
The date THEY give align with Ruan Mei’s departure. It wasn’t a fluke, Ruan Mei had successfully created a brand new path and somehow implemented it into this world. THEY look confused. For the first time, THEY cannot comprehend. “You’re shocked as well? I didn’t know my dearest Mei could achieve something like that. I had assumed Origin was an undiscovered path, but of course, a genius on her level can only achieve the best.”
THEY can sense the cracks in Herta’s demeanor. “██████████, ██████?” Herta’s proud smile faded. “Am I not ready to mention her name? Of course not. She is still gone, and we don’t have enough data on her Aeonhood to be able to meaningfully add her to the Simulated Universe as something more than a basic large language model.”
THEY do not respond. Herta keeps moving forward, the massive mess of wires and metal almost backing away. The space around Herta shifts. The Simulated Universe was glitching, clearly from the lack of attention that she had put into the project the last few months, but Herta did not care. She could see the bits and pieces of the world shattering around her, revealing the lab that she held so dear, but most importantly, THEIR position moving.
“What gives?” Herta’s glare to Nous was as sickening as it was filled with despair. This was the gaze of a broken woman, one fed up with the hopelessness that she’s never dealt with before in her life. “Have humans finally stumped you? Did Zandar not account for another man-made Aeon to be created?”
“But you are a hunk of metal.” The pain in Herta’s body disappeared. She was running off adrenaline. She knew exactly what she needed to do. “An artificial Aeon is impressive. But turning a mortal into an Aeon?”
“I no longer have a need for Erudition, Nous.” The clicks of Herta’s heels tap loudly on the ground, “I know far too much about your Aeonhood to need it.”
Silence.
Herta was nowhere to be found.
The vacuum of space had no noise, no screeches, no clashing of metal.
Just a flash of light and an explosion that could be seen for millenia.
The killing of an Aeon.
…
“What did you do, exactly?” Screwllum sat on Herta’s chair, Stephen standing right beside him the moment Herta exited the Simulated Universe. It was clear that whatever Herta had done caused them quite a headache.
“Nothing.” Herta replied.
“Nous has fallen in the real world.” Herta’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Screwllum continued. “Analysis: I don’t think your therapeutic interaction with Nous in the Simulated Universe was truly simulated. Almost as if you weren’t truly in the code.”
“How is that possible?” Herta asked, her mind racking through the millions of possibilities. Herta went to the Simulated Universe to let out her anger on the simulated Nous, not to… kill THEM.
Screwllum shook his head, going through every note he took down while studying Stelle’s experiments. “Congratulations, Herta, you usurped the throne of Erudition by knowing more than Nous. Ruan Mei may have more knowledge than anyone else at fostering life, which is why she is now the Aeon of Origin, but you, by killing an Aeon in the Simulated Universe, killed an Aeon in real life.”
Herta could barely wrap her head around it. Screwllum could barely understand it either, but he continued nonetheless. “Analysis: Even though you didn’t physically harm Nous, you were so intertwined with Erudition that you succeeded in the killing of an Aeon through embodying the nature of Erudition itself.”
“How come I’m not the new Aeon then?” Herta asked, even though she already knew the answer.
“I fear Erudition is no more. Origin was birthed as a child of Erudition, so I suppose many more children of Erudition will come to be in these coming amber eras.” Screwllum’s words echoed through the sterile walls of the station, “However, now that you are the second and only living mortal who is aware of the method of becoming an Aeon…”
“What are you hinting at, Screwllum?”
“I suppose that makes you the best candidate at becoming an Emanator of someone else?”