"QUICK! Starboard, starboard-"

"The stones! Watch out for the gla-"

"AAAA!"

"No, not there, that button, that one!"

"Come on, let me do it!"

"IT'S TOO LATE-"

"HYA!"

A sickening lurch pulled the SS. Lune to the right.

"WATCH IT-"

"NO!"

"PIC-"

"PULL IT!"

Crashes rang out. Alarms blared. The floor reeled. Sparks flew everywhere, showering the crew in hot fire.

"NOT LIKE THAT!"

A cool, female voice rang out from speakers. "Two hours to the event horizon. Please enjoy your journey."

"I KNOW, YOU-"

"THREE, TWO, ONE…"

"NOW!"

The ship hurled the crew in the air. Explosions roared. Wires swung down, lashing the walls. The floor became the ceiling. The ceiling became the floor.

"COME ON!"

"LOOK OUT!"

The walls blurred into one. The crew were tossed about like ragdolls. Somebody screamed. And then-

"Asteroid X-22 is passed," said the female voice, calmly. "Please continue to enjoy your journey."


.

.

.

Chapter 53: Not When You're Different

(?)

.

.

.


"Good afternoon. This is day fifty-six of the Magical Video Diary; Picky, Alle, Kumatora, Byleth, and the Royal Prince of Dalaam, all present and correct, reporting from the SS. Lune."

A young man sat grimly, in front of a battered camera. On this occasion, he wore a thick head of blonde hair, and a weathered black shirt, inadvertently highlighting the grey ringlets beneath his eyes.

He spoke to the camera, with some reluctance. "It is the last day, as the Establishment has planned. We're on course for the event horizon in just under two hours. We passed yet another asteroid…"

"Well, you can thank me for saving us all!" A girl with bright pink hair hopped into frame.

A bleak-looking woman folded her arms in the background. "For an extra two hours, anyway. I can't imagine we'll survive the spaghettification."

The boy ignored the interruptions, facing into the camera lens. "We're travelling at a rate of three astronomical units per hour, still on perfect course for the Unicorn. Byleth, has it come into view?"

An old, shrivelled-looking man peered out of the spaceship's window. His hair was long and grey, lined with streaks of blue.

"It sure is," he croaked, grimly. "It sure is."

"Indeed," the blonde man turned back to the camera. "We, the Final Five of Magic, are facing our final day. All that the Establishment had planned has come to fruition. The SS. Lune withstood the wormhole that ejected us here, from Earth. The ship has survived the vacuum of space for fifty-six days. But now, as calculated, the SS. Lune is approaching the Unicorn, the nearest Black Hole to Earth. Therefore, it is with regret that this is our final video entry. So, I, Picky, of Elemental..."

"And I, Kumatora of Psychics," murmured the pink-haired girl.

"And I, Prince of Dalaam, of Diplomatics..."

"And I, Alle of Creation…"

"And I," croaked the wizened man in the corner. "Byleth, of Time..."

Picky gave a heavy sigh. "Declare the magical lines to be, at long last, extinct."

Picky switched the camera off, stuffing it haphazardly into its bag. It wasn't likely that it'd be needed again. He cast his eyes to the others, who motioned their support.

It'd been a long fifty-six days.

The group was forced together, so to speak. Picky knew Alle beforehand, but only as a distant acquaintance. Then, the Prince of Dalaam: Picky had heard the rumours (as had everyone) but had never met him in person. As for the lively Kumatora and the ancient Byleth, he hadn't the faintest clue where they had come from.

But it seems their fates were bound as one. When the Establishment (the central rulers of New Earth) had decided to outlaw magic, the five of them had been rounded up; each the last of their magical branch. The magical stones - all five of them - had been crushed into a delicate powder, and with them, any abilities that the Five possessed had simply vanished. Not wanting to take any chances, the Establishment chose to be rid of the Five forever, loading the group into a small spaceship, and casting them off via the nearest wormhole, towards the Unicorn.

A bleak prospect, Porky always thought to himself, to be born into such a life.

Magic had been ruining everything since the start. Ever since Picky's big brother, Porky, had gotten greedy and touched the Time stone, never to be seen again, everything cascaded downhill. It was only a few weeks after Picky had found out about his Elemental powers that the Establishment began to track him down.

And now he's here, he thought glumly to himself. Drifting through space, with four people he scarcely knew. The ship was beyond repair - it couldn't be controlled, and even if it could… The gravitational pull of the Unicorn had already become immense. There'd be no escaping.

Stars glistened outside the hull. Picky always loved the stars as a child, and now he'd come to envy them. He envied how they do not feel, how they do not suffer, how they can live for millions of years whilst he, Picky, was a mere flicker in a wave.

The cool female voice rang out again. "One hour and thirty minutes to the event horizon. Please enjoy your journey."

"We know!" Kumatora exclaimed, angrily throwing herself into a seat. "For the last time, can't we get rid of that thing?"

"No," Alle explained patiently, leaning on the side of the control panel. "We can't. I'd rather it stayed."

Picky eyed the powdered stones, lying in their glass case. What once was magic, now reduced to dust. "I'm with Alle. I'd rather know when I'm going to die."

The sombre silence that followed was uncomfortable. The end loomed. Everything they'd tried, rewiring the ship, repairing the stones, it had all been futile.

Hope was gone.

"We've tried our best," Kumatora said, in a weak attempt to be cheerful. "There's still an hour and thirty minutes to go. We can do loads in that time!"

Byleth gave a small shake of his head, staring out of a window. Alle looked down at the floor. The Prince of Dalaam turned away.

"I dreamt for so long…" Byleth murmured, heavily. "I dreamt that one day, the magical and non-magical communities could come together. And yet…"

"And yet, they haven't," Picky finished, bitterly. "Not one bit."

"Not in my five thousand years of living."

"Five thousand years…" The words sounded foreign. He could hardly imagine how anybody could stay sane after so much time. "You must've seen a lot."

"I have," Byleth said, simply. "A great deal."

"That must've been before even New Earth's creation," Alle acknowledged, in awe. "You must be the only person alive who remembers the Old Earth. The only person who remembers pre-antinatalism."

Byleth looked up. His wrinkles told stories, they were maps of valleys, mountain folds scattered across his face. It was clear to anyone who saw him, that this man had seen empires rise and fall, had seen even worlds themselves burn. This man was as close to a god as mankind had ever reached.

"Indeed. And now, those memories shall fall."

The silence returned, snaking into their minds. They had lived with so much silence, especially on those nights where they couldn't sleep, yet didn't dare to speak into the darkness, for fear of interrupting one another's thoughts.

Silence had become powerful. A refusal to show weakness. The only way they had left to rebel.

"Look," The Prince of Dalaam said quietly, looking out of the telescope. "Out there. A supernova."

The others came over, taking turns to press their eyes up against the eyepiece. In the far, far distance, great pulses of light were radiating from a body, waves of vibrance filling the darkness. The light was distorted by the Unicorn, stretched by the gravity well, yet it outshone all else, and Picky wondered if it could be seen even from Earth.

And yet, even the magnitude of the supernova would be swallowed up eventually, by another black abyss. Or perhaps, the supernova would become a black hole itself, the core's mass so immense that no force could prevent it from becoming a single point in space and time. Maybe one day, another ship would be bound for its darkness, and five more lost causes would be within. Another five, who didn't fit in. The old saying; life is good, but not when you're different.

Picky caught a tear trailing down his cheek, as the S.S Lune ploughed reluctantly on. What did he do to deserve this? It wasn't his fault! He never asked for this! What were his family thinking, back at home? They'd tried to hide him when his magic had been discovered, but it had been to no avail. Were they being punished, as he sat here? Did they miss him? Were their fingers crossed, were they hoping that their last son would come home?

Porky wasn't mentioned anymore. Picky was the family's last hope, they'd promised him that. After Porky had disappeared, Aloysius had piled up his last possessions on the fire, and burnt them. Would that be happening to Picky's things too? Would his childhood toys be gone?

No, he had convinced himself, multiple times. Porky had a choice. I did not.

It did not stop him worrying.

"Tell us about Dalaam," Kumatora said quietly, to the young prince. "Tell us what it was like."

They had heard each other's stories many times before, but even now they offered some comfort, some closeness in these darkest times.

"Well," the Prince of Dalaam began, peacefully. "Dalaam, it is a beautiful village, in the Far East of our New Earth. The geography, buildings and delicacies are reminiscent of those in the Old East, in Old Asia. It is where I was born, and it is to where I pledged my allegiance." The Prince calmly pulled his white robes a little further around himself, sat in a meditative position on the ship's trembling floor. "There, discipline is vital, the soul and the mind are connected, you see. One must train, one must master oneself in order to unlock true wholeness."

"And you, Kuma?" Alle asked. "How about your hometown?"

The pink-haired girl laughed, a little bit. It had become a running joke at this point; they all knew Kumatora didn't really have a hometown. It was a strange ritual, how the five sometimes pretended they knew nothing about one another. It meant they could keep talking, stopping their minds from brooding on the end.

"Well, I came by boat, didn't I? Arrived at the Nowhere Islands, that's somewhere in the New Pacific, with no idea who my real parents are. Them Magypsies, they were the ones who raised me in the end! Good fellas, I like to think. If a little rigid. But hey, they made me a Princess! Princess of the Osohe castle, they called me. 'Twas a good time. A good, good time… until I was sold out to the Establishment, but that's another story!"

The others smiled, faintly. Everyone had become very fond of Kumatora, over the weeks they'd been together. She always took it upon herself to lift their spirits, something they were all very grateful for.

"Seventy-five minutes to the event horizon," the speakers announced, pleasantly. "Please enjoy your journey."


~~o00o~~

(4937 years earlier)

~~o00o~~


421 BC, the peak of the English Iron Age.

In those days, most people were farmers, fishermen or slaves, worshipping old Celt gods, living a basic but substantial life. Celt settlements dominated the sweeping hills of the north, characterised by their towering Hill Forts, which acted as the precursor to castles; sites for both defence and attack.

Territorial borders surrounded these settlements; long ditches, some many miles in length, separated towns and villages from one another. Communication between these towns was limited, but some would brave the long trips through forest, hedge and field to see their families and friends. At this point, regional identities were beginning to form, separationist ideas starting to thrive. Regionalism and expansionism took root in culture. Towns would invade their neighbouring villages, capturing inhabitants as slaves and workers of their own.

The farming town of Onett was no different. To the east was the rival settlement Tazmily, known for its sheep and sunflowers. The pair had fought for decades, long strands of grudges being formed between them until eventually, the bloodshed was so enormous that a Great Forest of trees was grown to separate the two. Not that the rivalry stopped - some would still brave the long trip through the trees, but they would never return. This and the long, winding Onett river began to root ideas of river gods and tree gods, developing the culture of Onettians for years to come.

Onett mostly farmed wheat in those days, and in the northernmost wheat fields, there stood a rather neglected roundhouse. It was known by the locals as cursed, rumours of witches and monsters had begun to develop, but all of these rumours had it wrong. In fact, within it there just lived a young farmer, only 15 years old, living on his own. It was a miserable life, some might say, but he enjoyed the seclusion, especially because he was so different from everybody else.

Ninten, that was his name. He'd only been a child when flares of magic had begun to shine through him. His family had thought him a prophet at first, but it seemed the power he possessed was so wild, so unchained, that the theory was quickly dropped. Some declared that demonic activity was at play, but other than the occasional magical outburst, Ninten appeared to be a perfectly ordinary boy. This vexed his family greatly.

When the time had come for him to move from home, he had bought himself this house on the hill. Secretly, he was fascinated by his power, deeply curious as to its origins, and this was the ideal place to experiment. He could make ice fly from his hands. He could make fire erupt from his fingertips. He experimented and experimented for as long as he pleased, noting down all he could in journals, storing all this knowledge away for generations to come.

But routines can change in an instant.

It was a perfectly ordinary day when his routine was interrupted. The crops were growing just fine; Ninten had watered them only in the morning. He'd boiled himself a fresh bowl of broth for lunch. He'd washed and dried his clothes in the river; all in all, a productive day.

Until a great pounding came from the front door.

Ninten put a tired hand to his head. Who could this be? People scarcely called at his house, not these days, not after the rumours began circulating. He heaved himself up from his chair, opening the door to reveal a boy around his age.

He looked like a funny chap. His hair was remarkable, in that it was bright blue, and sticking out in multiple directions. He had a kind of awkward look about him, but for somebody so young, his eyes appeared to be incredibly old. Ninten stared for a moment, before he regained his composure, and began to speak.

"Hello? Who are you?"

"My name is Byleth." The boy's voice was neutral and clear. "Are you Ninten?"

"I am. Uh - why do you ask?"

Byleth looked behind him. Ninten thought he saw a slight nervousness come across his face.

"Can I come in?"

Ninten was taken aback. It was quite ungainly to ask to enter someone's roundhouse, especially when night was falling. But, the stranger looked to be honest, so Ninten obliged.

"If you wish."

Byleth came in. Compared to much of the rest of the village, Ninten's house was surprisingly ordinary. Whilst the wattle and daub outside cracked and crumbled, the inside was actually quite homely. There was only one room, with a cauldron for cooking standing in the centre. Around the border were various haphazard furnishings, including mismatched shelves filled with papyrus journals, a straw bed, hay bales and makeshift storage compartments. Sprigs of wheat covered a stump by the bed, upon which a blazing torch stood. This created a hazard unbeknownst to Ninten; Ninten had allowed ivy to creep over the ceiling, and some of it hung down precariously close to the flames.

Byleth seemed a lot more at ease indoors, laying down a sack of some sort by the entrance, before sitting himself down on a log with a cheerful smile. Ninten procured a supply of honey mead, as was customary, and handed a chalice to the blue-haired figure opposite him.

"So," Ninten said, sitting down. "What brings you here?"

"Oh, I just needed a place to hide," Byleth explained.

"From what?"

"The tax collector. He was getting quite violent."

Byleth spoke remarkably casually. Ninten narrowed his eyes. A tax collector had never visited his house - then again, they might just be afraid of the rumours...

Ninten focused hard upon the man in front of him. Then, to his surprise, his mind began whirring, and a singular thought entered his brain: He's magical.

Ninten tried to bat the thought away, but it lingered. What could it mean? What sort of divination was this? A message from the gods? His trouble must've shown on his face, because Byleth frowned.

"Is everything okay?"

"You're magical like me," Ninten blurted. He clapped a hand over his mouth. Byleth raised his eyebrows, breaking his composure for the first time.

"I - like you? You're…"

"No!" Ninten tried foolishly to deny it. He was instantly ashamed of the scene he was creating in front of this handsome guest. "I mean…"

"What can you do?" Byleth asked, curiously.

The words rolled off Ninten's tongue. "I can make ice and fire - I can read emotions - I get senses, intuitions about things, that usually turn out to be true…"

Byleth watched, taking it all in, before he said, "Do you want to see what I can do?"

Ninten nodded, keenly.

Byleth clicked his fingers and instantly, the world stopped.

Quite literally, it stopped. The torch's flame stopped flickering, instead hanging still in the air. All sound vanished, no birds, no wind, no creaking walls. The grass outside was frozen. The air was still. Nothing happened.

Ninten looked around in awe, all adultlike composure gone. "How did you do that?"

"Sothis," Byleth said, simply.

"Sorry?"

Byleth put a flustered hand to his neck. "A… voice. A figure. Well, only I can see and hear it. She can do things like this through me - freezing time, reversing time, sending people forwards and backwards in time, even. Though, those last ones can be deadly. They can create horrendous paradoxes, so, Sothis doesn't allow that to happen…"

Ninten looked at Byleth in awe as he explained all this. Here he was, thinking he was the only magician - and yet here comes another, guided by a voice, and a magician of time? How could this be? Byleth clicked his fingers once more, and the world sprung back into life.

"It's crazy," Ninten said, his mouth still wide. "How long have you known about it?"

And so, the pair got to talking; through the rest of the night, they spoke, revelling in each other's newfound company. Two outsiders had found commonness in one another. From then on, Byleth would often visit the mysterious roundhouse on the hill, and the two friends would talk and laugh about their powers, writing about them in Ninten's journals. They'd walk through the market together to do their shopping, they'd share their time at any given opportunity.

The magic was their little secret. Magic and sorcery were outlawed, a practice allowed only of the highest priests and Speakers to the gods of the river and the forest. Often, ceremonies would occur, in which these speakers would pretend to receive divine messages, pretend to cast miracles, and pretend to channel the spirit of the village. But Byleth and Ninten saw through all these falsehoods and lies. They would see how people would sacrifice their best lambs and their firstborns to these non-existent deities, and they wanted no part in it. It was because of this that they began to be ostracised from the village.

But they didn't mind, so long as they were together.

Any observers of their budding relationship, if there had been any, would've called them codependent. The connection borne by their powers fuelled this togetherness, this strong sense that they were meant to be friends. It was not romantic, but brotherly. Rumours soon began circulating through the village, of the demon-infested boy, and his evil blue-haired friend, who didn't give their dues to the gods, but they didn't care. They were far too busy laughing, and enjoying one another's company.

It was perfect. All was well.

But the good times don't last forever.


~~o00o~~

4516 A.D.

~~o00o~~


"Any regrets?" Alle asked, softly. The S.S Lune whirred and whined over her, almost as if it could sense it was reaching its final destination. The distant void outside was thick and black now, and the passengers were starting to feel the gravitational pull as the Unicorn dragged them ever closer.

Kumatora swung her legs around. "Regrets?"

"Anything you'd like to resolve before it's all over."

There was a moment of silence, before Kumatora spoke again. "Yeah, I have some things."

Alle gestured for her to go ahead.

"My home," Kumatora began. "My real home. Wherever I came from. I always meant to find it, to use these psychic powers, but…"

Alle patted her on the back. "Maybe it's for the best that you didn't find it. Who knows what could've happened to its residents?"

"I regret leaving my people," said the Prince of Dalaam mournfully. "I have not served them my dues. I can only hope my replacement is sufficient."

"And I regret…" Picky paused, biting back the information about Porky once again. It would do the others no good to discover it. "I regret this one occasion, when I was a kid, I was with my brother… he beat up this other guy, and I stood there, watching. I did nothing about it, and we left him there, hurt."

Kumatora winced. "That's a nasty one. Poor guy."

"I never saw him after," Picky said, looking at the ship's floor. "Never again."

"I regret many things," Byleth croaked, coming back into the conversation. He was still sitting in his corner, peering outside of the window. Picky wondered once more what this man could have seen.

Byleth continued. "I regret all the great and terrible things that mankind has cast upon our time. I regret the years that have passed me by, all the friends that have come and gone. I regret the faces that grew, and withered, and dissolved into ash. Oh, and I regret that John Lennon died so soon…" He cracked a slight smile, though none of the others understood the reference.

"Well, I regret not saying goodbye to my pet crow," Alle said, flustered. "Seems a bit stupid after all that poetry."

Picky looked up. "You had a pet crow?"

"So to speak…" Alle smiled. "He'd sit on my window and talk to me. Not English, mind, but I think I could understand. I used my powers to bring him food and water, and we got on like a house on fire."

Picky slowly nodded. Crows were quite remarkable creatures, he thought. After the great extinction event of 2936, they had been one of the only fauna to survive.

"The Establishment will fall eventually," Byleth stated. "It can only be a matter of time before rebellions begin."

"It feels like they've got a pretty strong following," Alle said gloomily, staring at the ground. "Never in the history of New Earth has there been such productivity and so little rebellion. They've mastered politics, they've mastered control. It's a political dystopia."

Byleth glowered, though not at anyone in the room. "Repressing rebellions never works. Every empire must fall."

"Not this one. They're too strong."

"It only takes a weak link," Kumatora reminded them. "One weak link, and the chain shatters."

Picky grimaced. "We were supposed to be the weak link. Magic was supposed to prevail."

"There will be others," Byleth said, simply. "Magic never fades."

The Prince of Dalaam observed the glass case, full of colourful dust. "The stones are destroyed, Byleth. There is no magic remaining."

"Magic came from nowhere," Byleth reminded them. "Magic existed before the stones; I existed before the stones. It can exist after them too. The stones - they only focused the magical energies, concentrating them into one location. This is the power the Establishment never understood; their destruction only removed the prison. Magic roams free on New Earth."

Picky looked down. "But not here."

"Not here," Byleth agreed. "But somewhere. And that shall be enough - the Establishment must fall."

Picky sincerely hoped so.

Alle glanced up at the wizened man in the corner. "What was it like, before antinatalism?"

"Well…"

Picky grimaced. Antinatalism was a terrible policy that the Establishment had introduced some two hundred years ago. They believed the population was becoming too numerous, and there were too many independent thinkers - and so, it was by law, that all embryos had to be genetically engineered, lab-grown and conceived in vitro by donors' gametes. Husbands and wives would be randomly assigned, they would be given a maximum of two children, and were expected to raise them. It meant that the Establishment could raise cohorts of good, obedient citizens, without bloating the population. Of course, few followed the antinatalism laws, especially on the outskirts of the neo-megacities, but those who were discovered to have conceived a child of their own were severely punished.

"Glorious," Byleth said, heavily. "Free. Wonderful. You name it."

The speakers echoed once more. "One hour remaining until the event horizon. Please enjoy your journey."

This time, nobody snarked back. It was really starting to set in now; this was the end. They had spent the whole journey with hope, trying to stall the fusion reactors, trying to activate the steering controls, but all to no avail. The Unicorn was approaching.

Alle came to sit beside Picky, leaning against his shoulder. Picky would've perhaps considered pursuing a romantic relationship with her, had they been on New Earth. Out of everyone here, they had become the closest during their time of imprisonment. It was a shame that heterosexuality was so disliked by the Establishment, temptation to breed, they called it. It wasn't illegal by any means, but it was certainly frowned upon.

Picky put an arm around her, and they stayed like that for a few minutes, holding one another, completely lost in thought. There was nothing more to be said. The Prince of Dalaam sat still in the corner. Byleth peered further out the window, whilst Kumatora had a last bash at the unresponsive controls.

A great deal of light was beginning to pour through the windows now. They were entering the photon sphere, a swirling mass of light and material that orbited the Unicorn's deadly centre. They would stay in orbit for some time, but the friction of the ship against the circling rocks would meet their demise; they would be plummeting towards the event horizon soon enough. The light twisted and distorted around them, the emptiness coming ever closer. It was the size of the window now. The ship began to vibrate, as suddenly, the S.S Lune's thrusters activated, accelerating them even faster, ensuring they would not be safe for too long.

"It's a cool death though, right?" Kumatora said, unconvincingly. "Better than being burnt, or drowning, or something?"

"Yeah," murmured Alle, making Picky jump. He'd almost forgotten she was beside him. "Not many people can say they've done this."

"And at least we are not alone," offered the Prince of Dalaam.

"We shall not die immediately, once we are past the event horizon," Byleth rasped. "There could be minutes left, hours even. I do not know."

"What will it be like?"

"None can know for sure," Byleth replied, calmly. "Perhaps we may come out the other side."

They fell back into a brooding silence, as the ship groaned under the increased forces.

"It's pitch black," Kumatora said, looking outside. "So dark - there's nothing there, nothing at all."

Nobody replied.

The thrusters continued to roar. Picky listened to them, as they consumed the energy that the fusion reactor dutifully released. He could feel a little tug at his feet, and he wondered if that was the beginning of the spaghettification progress - he pondered how long they would survive, whether they could even make it to the event horizon in the first place. Picky could swear the inside of the ship was getting lighter and lighter, as they hurtled through the photon sphere. He instinctively held onto Alle, listening to the thrusters…

The thrusters.

The thrusters!

Picky jumped up. "I've got it!"

The others looked at him in amazement.

"Now that the thrusters are powered - if we turn the ship - we'll be able to escape!"

"We can't turn the ship," Alle reminded him gently. "The movement controls-"

"No - watch!"

Picky ran down the ship's length, hurtling down to the front. He readied himself, before launching his body at the wall. The motion sent a tremor down the ship, but didn't seem to do any more.

"Come on!" Picky shouted desperately. "We can do it! This can turn the ship - I know it!"

The others hurried over. Picky slammed himself once more into the wall, ignoring the throbbing in his side. Kumatora followed suit with a cheer, and the S.S Lune groaned under the attack.

"More!" Picky shouted. "We need to turn ourselves around!"

The barrage continued. Bodies struck the walls, each tipping the ship an infinitely small degree off course. Shouts filled the engine room, as over and over again, they hurled themselves at the walls, fuelled by pure desperation. Bruises were ignored. Aches were discarded, as they kept going and going. Picky could swear they were doing it - he could swear they were turning. Even Byleth got involved, pushing his frail body against the window.

"Keep going!" Picky yelled. "Keep going!"

They obeyed. Bangs rang out. Picky worried the titanium wall would give in, but they would surely die either way, wouldn't they? It didn't matter anymore. He hurled himself again, ignoring the nearly deathly pain that had developed in the left side of his body. The ship lurched, tipping to the edge… tipping away from the Black Hole. Elation began to course through Porky's veins.

But it was short-lived. There was a sudden grinding, sputtering noise, followed by a series of crunches and groans. The roaring of the thrusters ground to a halt, and in the distance, Picky saw them floating away.

"No!" Picky cried out, falling to the floor in desperation. "No! Come back!"

"Nice try," said the cool female voice. "You have activated protocol 750. The thrusters have been detached. Forty-five minutes remain until the event horizon. Please enjoy your journey."


~~o00o~~

(421 B.C)

~~o00o~~


Ninten wasn't a rich man, by any means.

But he wasn't a slave, nor a peasant. He was that strange middle ground that hardly existed in those days. He lived a comfortable life, as he grew into his later teens, one without much worry or trial, and one that he would come to hold great gratitude for. He and Byleth were considered unusual in the way they did not hire slaves and harlots, unusual in the way they didn't participate in the rituals of the 'regular people,' but they were perfectly happy with themselves.

"We are more enlightened," Byleth said one day. They were seventeen at the time, enjoying a pleasant evening off. "The world is wrong. We're the only ones not conforming to it."

Ninten put his feet up on a hay bale. It had been a recent discovery of his that hay bales made much better seats than hard, splintery stumps. "You think?"

Byleth took a gulp of the vegetable broth that he'd prepared earlier. "Absolutely. Do you see anyone else like us?"

"Perhaps we're mad?"

"Oh, we are," Byleth said serenely. "Anyone who does not follow the pattern is mad. But that's no bad thing."

They were interrupted by a sharp knocking on the door.

Ninten stood. "I'll get it."

The door was pulled open to reveal a pair of iron-clad men. Ninten blanched, looking upon them. What could this be about?

They grabbed him roughly. "Come with us."

"Hey!" Byleth leapt up. "What's going on?"

One man sneered, coming forwards. "He who converses with the devil must shoulder the devil's burden. You must come too."

They were taken quite unceremoniously out of the roundhouse. The assailants took no care in dragging them, stepping on Ninten's crops as they ploughed through the fields. Ninten had a mind to shout and argue, but iron swords glistened in the men's sheaths.

They soon reached the village road. Some jeering rang out as they passed through, and at one Ninten received the terrible vision of a sacrificial pyre. But to his immense relief, no such sight came into view and instead, he was pulled down a set of rickety stone stairs. He nearly stumbled as his captor abruptly stopped, sliding open a wrought-iron doorway. Then, there was a forceful shove, and he fell inside, landing face-first in mud.

A loud thud told Ninten that Byleth had met the same fate. He tried to pick himself up, but behind him, the iron door slid shut.

They were in what seemed to be an underground room. Stone brick walls rose up from the ground, topped with a compacted dirt roof. Two brackets containing torches hung in two corners. There was nothing else.

"Hey!" Ninten exclaimed, angrily. "Let us out!"

Outside the iron door, an armoured man sneered. "Not until your sentence has been decided."

"What sentence?!"

"You have been found guilty of sorcery, and public disturbance. The gods and the prophets shall be consulted, and in five days, you and your associate's sentences will be determined."

Ninten paled. The thought shot bolts through his heart. A sentence? Sorcery? Had he and Byleth been seen?

"We've done nothing wrong!" Byleth argued. "This is crazy!"

The guard stuck out their lower lip. "You do not respect the gods. Your punishment is due."

Ninten began to pace agitatedly around the cell. What misfortune was this? But no worry, surely, magic could be used to escape?

He took Byleth into a corner. "Freeze time, and we can get out."

But Byleth shook his head. "The frozen time is limited - and I cannot unlock this gate."

Ninten did not relent. "Freeze time, and I will use my fire powers. I will melt the iron."

"And go where? They would catch us, Ninten. We need to wait."

"Until what?"

"Until our sentencing," Byleth said simply.

"But-"

Byleth put an arm around Ninten, an uncharacteristic gesture. "Trust me. I have a plan..."

The days in the prison were dark and miserable. The pair were fed only the worst grains, pig feed and dirty river water. The sentencing was taking a long time, reported the guard, based on disputes as to whether the gods would accept them as a sacrifice (he said this with great delight) or not.

It was a bleak prospect. Ninten was missing home - he was reminded inexplicably of those old stories, of people who disobeyed commandments and were stoned to death. It was pretty clear that his punishment was going to be an execution of some kind, as the guards so often hinted, it was now just a question of how he was going to die.

He had faith in Byleth's plan, though. He trusted Byleth; throughout the couple of years they'd known each other, they'd become like brothers. Byleth was the smart one, always thinking far ahead, always able to calculate things with impeccable accuracy. Ninten had learnt to follow him.

Byleth kicked at the dirt with a ragged sandal. "How much longer?"

"As long as it takes," sneered today's guard.

Byleth rolled his eyes, ignoring the jibe. "What if we die of thirst before you decide?"

"You will not. You are receiving fresh water from the Onett river-"

Ninten jumped up. "Fresh?! It's thicker than a cow pat!"

The guard glared. "Be grateful."

"ALRIGHT!" A massive voice echoed through the chamber, making everybody jump. "THE SENTENCE IS DETERMINED!"

"Aha!" The guard cackled, sliding the iron door aside. "See you later - not!"

Ninten and Byleth were led out of the prison by a man with particularly yellowed teeth. Ninten's vision flickered in the broad daylight, men, women and children alike turning away from him in shame. A crowd seemed to have formed around the prison, some carrying blazing torches, some carrying vicious-looking iron tools. Ninten swallowed the lump in his throat - he hadn't been expecting an audience.

Roughly, he was forced forwards and onto some kind of plinth. His hands were wrenched behind him, and tied together with a thick length of rope. Byleth appeared, undergoing the same treatment, wincing as he stumbled and was wrenched back up by his hair. In the daylight, Byleth's face was marred by dust and dirt, and Ninten figured he himself looked much the same. He took the opportunity to scout the crowd, making out to his dismay his sisters, Minnie and Mimmie, amongst other former friends. Over in the distance, the sun was obscured by something tall, covered in woven branches. Ninten's hands trembled.

"At last," whispered Mr Mayor, leader of the village. He approached them with a sort of hunger, an intrigued gleam in his eyes. "The magicians… the sorcerers, have been caught. No more shall they enrage our gods! No more droughts shall fall!"

The crowd wildly cheered, some waving their flaming torches in the air. Ninten prayed that Byleth's plan would come into action soon.

"The peace has been disturbed. The gods have been denied their sacrifices. What do you say to that, Ninten?"

The crowd fell silent, but just as Ninten was about to speak, Byleth stepped forwards.

Mutters broke out, and Byleth rose a commanding hand for silence.

Mr Mayor raised an eyebrow. "Something to say?"

"Absolutely," Byleth replied, cold as ice.

"And what might that be?"

The crowd waited with excitement, as Byleth steeled himself. No doubt they were hoping for a fight of some sort.

"It's all wrong!" Byleth exclaimed suddenly. "All wrong! Don't you see? These sacrifices, these rituals to gods who do not exist? Gods who bring drought, suffering? Locusts? This is madness! Your prophets, they lie! They do not hear divine messages! There is still time to change your ways - let us go, I can show you true magic, I can show you the truth!"

There was a resounding silence that seemed to echo off of the buildings themselves. Then, one man cried out:

"Blasphemy!"

The rest followed.

"Sorcerers!"

"Liars!"

"Demon-infested!"

"Unclean!"

"Curséd!"

"Burn them!"

"Sacrifice them!"

"Sacrifice them!"

"Sacrifice them!"

"Sacrifice them!"

The cries rang for miles, and yet Ninten could hardly hear them. Had that been Byleth's plan? Byleth looked at him afraid, and Mr Mayor surged forwards, a delighted grin on his face.

"The people have spoken! These wrongdoers will be sacrificed to the gods - burnt on the altar like lambs!"

The branches in the distance fell away. From the street rose a golden pillar, piled high with rope and wood. It glittered, encrusted with treasure and riches galore. The crowd cheered wildly.

"Sacrifice them!"

"Sacrifice them!"

"Sacrifice them!"

Ninten felt himself being grabbed around the waist. He rose, struggling, as guards lifted him and Byleth from the ground, carrying them towards the pyre. Mr Mayor tossed a slab of flint in his hand, beaming from ear to ear.

Primal fear struck again and again. Was this it? How would it feel to die, to burn like firewood? Would it hurt? The altar came clearly into view, and Ninten was thrust against it, back to back with Byleth, the boy he trusted more than any other. A thick coil of rope was produced and wrapped around their middles, binding them to one another and to the golden pillar. Heaps of wood and greenery were thrown on the pile, and Mr Mayor menacingly slashed the flint as the crowd surged forwards, jeering.

Ninten closed his eyes tight shut as the sparks began to fly, and the smoke began to rise.

It was time for him to die.


~~o00o~~

4516 A.D.

~~o00o~~


.

.

.

"Ten minutes remain until the event horizon. Please enjoy your journey."

.

.

.

Outside the S.S. Lune, the remnants of galaxies themselves were a thick soup, reduced to mere beams of light orbiting infinitely around the Unicorn. The Unicorn did not relent, more and more mass disappearing into its dark abyss. It dominated this corner of space-time, greedily harvesting all it could consume, so small in diameter but so enormous in magnitude.

.

.

.

Inside, the atmosphere was cold and empty. Byleth's wizened form lay on the windowsill - anyone who didn't know better might assume he had died. Picky was staring resolutely at his fingers, an arm around Alle's shuddering shoulder. The Prince of Dalaam had resumed his meditative position; he looked unlikely to speak ever again. Even Kumatora looked bleak, sitting emptily on the ship's floor.

There was a definite pull at their feet now, there was no denying that. Picky wondered absent-mindedly how much he could be stretched before he would be inevitably asphyxiated - and how much of the whole process he would get to see. He had considered lying down on the floor; perhaps then he would be stretched horizontally instead, but what good would it be, postponing what is inevitable?

"I guess this is it," Kumatora said, her voice hoarse. "It's been a sweet trip. Seriously, you're all great."

"You're great too," Alle said quietly. "Everyone here is. We tried our best."

"We did," Picky echoed.

"One must never resign," Byleth croaked from his corner. "Not when there is still time."

"It's a lost cause," the Prince of Dalaam said blandly. "We must accept that, and await the darkness."

"No," Byleth rasped, with more force. "We must not. We must consider - giving up is a fool's errand. This very ship, the S.S Lune, is named after two magicians that never gave up. The most famous magicians to have lived, save for Ninten himself! Lucas, and Ness, thousands of years ago, and I was there to bear witness."

Picky stuck out his lower lip, a childish habit he had sustained, "They're fairy tales. Stories made up to make magicians feel better about themselves. Byleth - you've lived a long life, longer than all of us combined, but it is time to let go."

"I have lived a long life because I didn't let go!" Byleth exclaimed, fiercely. "I have seen friends die, lovers separate, stars fade, worlds reborn! I have survived hordes of creatures, I have survived burning at the altar, I have survived it all! I tell you - I have been an old man for a very long time!"

"But you had magic back then," Picky sighed. "The time stone is reduced to dust."

"Oh yes," Byleth said with venom. "My appearance - as soon as the Stone was destroyed, I became decrepit in appearance, a presentable corpse if you will… but never in spirit! I existed before the stones, and I have existed after them too! I tell you; Sothis forbid it, we cannot give in!"

"Then what do we do?" Kumatora asked plaintively. "What the hell do we do?"

Byleth spoke simply. "We hope."

"For what?"

"There are myths, rumours…" Wearily, Byleth lifted a wrinkled hand to his head. "White holes, afterlives... I do not suggest for a second we survive, merely, we advance, we become… more enlightened..."

It sounded whimsical to Picky. An old man's attempt at giving them hope. He sighed, pulling Alle a little closer. "It's over, Byleth. Accept it."

The old man bowed his head. "That is your decision to make."

Silence fell once more.

Picky's heart thrummed, his thoughts drifting once more. The Establishment; would it ever fall? He had already entertained the idea of becoming a symbol of revolution, a figurehead for the people. He fantasized about being a martyr. Surely people would see their execution, and oppose it? Surely their absence wouldn't go unnoticed? But, it could easily be kept quiet, people could turn a blind eye, they could be too scared… These thoughts continued to wrestle inside of Picky's head until he could take it no more, and he lay down on the floor.

The worst part was everyone he was leaving behind.

It was hard to bear. It reminded him of the last day of school, parting ways with old friends, that became acquaintances, that became strangers. Except, this time, it would all be so much quicker. This time, his friends would be with him until the bitter end, and they would see it all through together.

In a way, this was comforting. It filled the emptiness that was to follow, at least.

"Five minutes remain until the event horizon. Please enjoy your journey."

The crew barely responded. Each gripped slightly tighter onto whatever they had their faith in, but nothing was said. The bright light from outside was starting to dissipate as the event horizon drew closer, the lights in the S.S Lune were dimming as photons were pulled away, towards the Unicorn. Alle's hand felt unusual in Picky's, as the force continued to build, and he began to wish that he'd spoken more to her throughout the journey.

Nerves were always the killer, they always had been. Speaking to people… Picky was always too slow, and time ran out. That's why the school friends faded. That's why he could never get the help he needed to hide from the Establishment.

Kumatora broke the silence. "What are our last words gonna be?"

The Prince of Dalaam looked up. "To fight against the Establishment, we built a mental fortress. However, our efforts were futile, and we lost." He looked back down. Picky knew he did not intend to speak again.

"Time fades," Byleth croaked. "Yet it always leaves a scar."

"Let the world know I died for love," Alle said simply.

Picky thought fast. The fact that people were resigning themselves to their fate was somewhat more disturbing than the fate itself. Nevertheless, he tried to come up with something suitable: "We're out of luck, and out of time."

"What can I say after all that?" Kumatora gave a nervous laugh. "Oh… I know. 'Time to get outta these girl clothes'!"

For the final time, silence fell.

There was nothing more to be said.

"Zero minutes until the event horizon. Please enjoy your deaths."

The ship groaned, beginning to pass the invisible barrier. The barrier past which not even light could escape. Ninten wrapped an arm around Alle for the final time, feeling the latter huddle against him. He wasn't scared any more.

Then almost at once, something quite unexpected began to happen. The event horizon appeared to split into two distinct entities, light from both striking the ship as it passed. Inside the horizon was not darkness therefore, but an immense glow, infinitely bright.

In this place, space travelled faster than light, pulling the ship and all its crew inexorably inwards. All matter lengthened, the gravity at foot being stronger than the gravity at the head. They were not yet torn apart - the Unicorn was small enough that the forces were not too strong yet.

Looking up one last time, the gravity of the black hole appeared to have concentrated the view of the outside world into one singular band. All else was nothingness. The view was dim, and hard to make out - or, it would have been, if the crew were still conscious.

As the ship approached the singularity, it and all its crew were ripped apart. There was nothing left, except for energy and light.

It was over.

~~o00o~~

(421 BC)

~~o00o~~


Red-hot flames licked at Ninten's soles. They climbed canes and sticks, billowing searing smoke into his throat. Crackling filled his ears, Byleth's body writhing against his. He screamed, pulling at his bonds as the skin of his feet was scorched and burnt. The fire latched onto a protruding log, bringing the heat up to Ninten's chest. Sharply, he tried to tear himself free, but it was no good.

The crowd disappeared behind a thick veil of grey. He could hardly breathe. The smoke would surely kill him first, not the fire. He coughed, spluttering, the world erupting into an empty fog. Everything swam, the jeering crowd mingling with ringing in his ears, mingling with all his memories darting past, the first day at school, the first day of discovering his powers, the fire, the ice, the ice-

He grasped at consciousness once more, his throat scorched and raw. "PK FREEZE!"

It did nothing.

"PK FREEZE!"

No more - it was the end, Ninten's mind raced, but it fell short. Thoughts were ensnared in smoke. Ideas were beaten down by asphyxiation. He screamed for one last time.

But then, everything stopped.

Byleth moved like lightning. Ninten could hardly process the scene before him. The flames arched stiffly and still, the smoke hanging like fog in the sky. Suddenly, his lungs were awake with fresh, clean air, and Byleth was pulling him away; his bonds fell from his hands to the ground, and the fire vanished before him, replaced by only a stretching meadow.

"Byl-"

The blue-haired man pulled him into the grass. "Shush! We haven't much time!"

"Where-?"

Ninten couldn't believe what he was seeing. Was this an afterlife perhaps? Byleth was unscathed, not a hint of soot marring his body. Ninten looked down at his hands and saw that he too was clean.

Byleth's eyes locked into Ninten's. "I can save you."

The determination with which he spoke sent shivers down his spine.

"We have five minutes, at most," Byleth explained stoically. "I'm not sure where we are, but-"

He fell short, interrupted by a gentle female voice. "Oh, Byleth. We can be wherever you like, of course."

Ninten looked all around for the source of the noise, but failed to make it out, until suddenly, from the sky, a woman descended.

Ninten's first thought was that she was rather elven in appearance. Pointed ears matched sea-green eyes and an elaborate golden tiara - but then, a mane of emerald hair outshadowed it all. It flowed like the ocean, spreading a seemingly infinite distance, set in perfect, graceful layers, but Ninten did not find himself to be intimidated. He caught his mouth hanging open, as the lady touched down on the ground, gave him a sort of half-amused smile, and turned to Byleth.

"Well? Will you not introduce me?"

Byleth shot to his feet. "Lady Sothis - this is Ninten. Ninten - this is Lady Sothis. She's… a sort of mastermind, the one through whom I seem to possess powers."

Sothis gave him a reproachful look. "I prefer the term companion."

Byleth nodded. "Very well. My companion. But, time is short, Lady Sothis, I-"

Sothis gazed down at him. "Make your plea."

Ninten could only watch as Byleth gave her an awkward look. "Do you not know it already?"

"Most certainly," Sothis swept over. "But it is polite to ask."

Byleth's expression grew troubled. "Lady Sothis, we don't have time, the time freeze-"

"-Will last," Sothis finished simply. "Now, what is it you would ask me?"

Byleth took a deep breath, giving Ninten a quick glance, before drawing himself up to his full height. "Save him."

Sothis's gaze bore into his. "How?"

"Allow me to send him forward."

"Funny," mused Sothis. "The sentiment of men… it is often ignored… it is an unusual request…"

Byleth did not look away. "Can I do it, then?"

Ninten thought he caught irritation in his tone. He didn't know what being sent forward might entail, but he stayed quiet nonetheless.

"The paradoxes," Sothis looked distastefully at Ninten. "They are too great, these powers are not to be harnessed-"

Byleth glowered, as if he'd been expecting this. "He'll die."

"And so will you, eventually."

Byleth stepped forwards. "Save him."

Sothis raised her eyebrows. "Why are you so keen for him to live? Do you not understand; he will still die in the end?"

Byleth glanced at Ninten once more, before turning angrily to Sothis. "He will live for longer."

"Longer, shorter, it means nothing," Sothis made a dismissive noise. "Time is a web, not a line."

"Save him."

Sothis swept her head over her shoulder. "You could run."

"Not forever!"

"Oh, Byleth." Sothis looked at him as though a grandmother would a child. "You will run, you will be running for a very, very long time. But I tell you this; I will not allow you to save him."

Ninten's heart sank. Byleth shook with anger. "And why not?!"

"He is simple, Byleth. He's not special."

"HE IS TO ME!"

Everyone froze. Sothis stared at Byleth with a look of abject shock; Ninten thought she may smite him down then and there. Byleth breathed heavily, suddenly keen to look anywhere else than at Ninten, or the deity before him.

Sothis broke suddenly into a smile. "Well, well. Byleth, congratulations. You have passed the test."

Byleth looked sharply up. "The te-?"

"Yes," Sothis airily waved a hand. "I will grant you, on this occasion, to advance him forwards. But you must understand what this means?"

Byleth grit his teeth. "I do. Thank you, Lady Sothis."

She began to ascend back into the vista. "You have shown good faith, Byleth. But now, I must leave you. Good luck."

Byleth merely inclined his head.

As soon as she was gone, Ninten looked up at Byleth. "What-?"

Byleth rushed over, pulling him up by the shoulders. Ninten spluttered as Byleth gripped him tight.

Byleth whirled him around. "We don't have much time! Ninten - do you trust me?"

"Y-Yeah, what are we-?"

Byleth got something out of his pocket. "I'm sending you forwards. Two thousand years or so."

"What!? But-"

Byleth looked grave. "It's the only way. Sothis has granted me the power to do it, just this once."

Ninten quivered. "What about our families? Our home?"

"It's this, or die on that pyre."

"A-Are you coming too?"

Byleth paused, before averting his eyes. "I cannot. There is not enough power. I must come the long way round. That's what Sothis meant - I will be running for a very, very long time. But I will find you."

Ninten's face fell.

"Your memories will be replaced," Byleth continued. "To avoid paradoxes. You will have a new life - it'll be as if you've lived there all your life. You will forget everything here, you will forget your family, you will forget me."

"I could never forget you!" Ninten exclaimed, aghast.

Byleth gave a sad smile. "You won't really have a choice."

The dark-haired boy looked down at the meadow. "But..."

And Ninten looked so crestfallen, that suddenly, Byleth's composure broke, and he pulled his best friend close. "Ninten. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I'll miss you so much…"

"I'll miss you too," Ninten said, miserably.

"You'll be okay, I promise. You'll be safe."

Ninten looked up, worried. "What about you?"

"I'll be fine," Byleth lied. "D-don't worry…"

Sothis's voice echoed from above. "Quickly! I can't hold the freeze forever!"

"It's time," Byleth shuddered. "Are you ready?"

Ninten hung in place, feeling hollow. "I guess so... Thank you for everything, Byleth. Thank you for all you've done, thank you for being you, thank you for just… being there, all the time..."

Byleth took a deep breath. "Thank you too. Goodbye, Ninten... I love you."

"I-I love you too."

Holding back the urge to cry, Byleth placed his hands on Ninten's shoulders. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began to mutter some ancient words.

When he opened his eyes again, Ninten was gone.

He fell to his knees, all sorts of bittersweet feelings flooding through him. He's safe now. He's alone. You're alone.

But he would find him again; he knew it. He rose shakily to his feet.

It was going to be a long two-thousand years.


A/N

I'll admit, this chapter took longer than planned.

Mostly because I don't like writing in the past tense, but when it's in the third person, there isn't much choice. But I quite like the result, I've desecrated canon again,

Also, this was me at my most pretentious, so many themes, so much intrinsic meaning and thought, all without concrete plot advancement…

How about a fluff chapter next time?

Notes:

I tried to be scientifically accurate with all the black hole stuff, and I tried to be historically accurate with all the Iron Age stuff. Experts feel free to correct me…

The event horizon of a black hole is the point past which light cannot escape. The Unicorn is currently the closest known black hole to earth.

Kumatora, Mr Mayor, Alle, The Prince of Dalaam, Minnie and Mannie are all characters featured in the Earthbound series.

I tried to keep the information about Sothis and Byleth as accurate as I could, considering how far from canon the situation is.

And that is all for now! Thank you for reading this jam-packed chapter, I look forward to seeing you in the next one!

~ ReadyforTeddy