He awoke from the dream knowing that, this time, the dream would be a reality. Once before, ages ago, he’d awoken only to be confronted with the bitter reality that, aside from the death of the man who, in the eons since the beginning of their self-imposed exile in the Void, he had come to realize was just as much of a brother as the one he had lost so long ago, nothing had changed. Oh, it nearly had–the Power had been mere moments from being conferred–but, in the end, the one to whom the Power could have been given to had turned away, condemning the cosmos once again to another cycle of pain and suffering. Surely it had been that refusal which had killed the Bespectacled Man’s friend–why it hadn’t done the same to him was just another of the mysteries that had, over the course of his very long life, been lain at his feet–and, though his friend’s body had appeared peaceful when the Bespectacled Man had found it, he had a very real suspicion that the actual death had been anything but.
The Bespectacled Man sat up and swung his legs off of the bed, resting his feet on the floor. Taking his spectacles off of the bedside table, he put them on and looked across to the other bed, where the perfectly preserved body of his friend still lay. His friend–the Bespectacled Man couldn’t remember what the man’s name had been, just as he could no longer remember his own–appeared to be peacefully asleep, his eyes closed, his hands folded together on his chest. That chest did not rise and fall, however, and, for a brief moment, the Bespectacled Man allowed himself to mourn for his friend, who hadn’t been allowed to live long enough to see the day they had waited for come to pass at last. I am sorry you aren’t here, Brother. We could have rejoiced together. For a time, at least.
The Bespectacled Man left the bedroom and went downstairs to the kitchen, where he put a pot of coffee on to brew. The house he lived in wasn’t real, of course–not in any truly physical sense–but it was still a comfort to go through the motions as if it were. Why dwell on the fact that what surrounded him was nothing but a mental construct when he already had enough to think about? The coffee finished brewing. The Bespectacled Man took the pot and filled his favorite mug–it had the design of a horse’s head on either side, an emblem of a sports team that had existed before the Cataclysm–then went over to the kitchen counter and sat down at one of the stools.
The coffee was good–just bitter enough without being acrid, and just the right temperature–and, as he drank it, the Bespectacled Man began to realize that he’d never had a cup quite like it, before. With each sip, the coffee awoke things within him, memories he had long thought lost forever. In a startling moment of clarity which actually made him laugh out loud, he remembered both his own name, and his friend’s. His friend had been named Aaron, and his name had been Geoffrey. Aaron had been fond of a particular kind of music–What had it been called? Heavy metal?–and it had been over that music that he and Geoffrey had first bonded. Gods, that was so long ago.
And then Geoffrey remembered the name of his brother–the true brother–he had never known, but still lost. His name had been Kevin, and he had died the same day he had been born. Geoffrey suddenly knew that, in the days to come, he would get the chance to finally meet his brother. But not because he, himself, would soon join him in death. No, there would be another kind of meeting for them, one that directly concerned the person who had been conferred the Power.
Did that mean what Geoffrey thought it might? That, this time, the one who held the Power was the one it had been destined for? Since Geoffrey was awake, and even had some inkling of what events the days ahead held, it was a definite possibility. The holder of the Power would need to be tested, of course–as would any who accompanied him. But, even as Geoffrey finished off the last of his coffee, he somehow knew that, regardless of what the tests revealed, this would be the end of the cycle. Never again would he go to sleep only to be awoken after millennia had passed to go through it all, again. For good or ill, this would, at long last, be the end.
But what about the Key? Geoffrey wondered. If this Nightslayer passes the tests, will he be able to find it in time when, even now, I still have no memory of where it is hidden?
Only time–and there wasn’t much left of that–would tell.
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