1 – The Now

Long did we gaze in helpless awe upon the glory of the universe. Timeless, we called it; immaculate, immortal, immemorial. In our infancy our ancestors spoke to us. They cried of a day when the stars would go dark. They cried of an eternal darkness, of an eternal death. They cried that all would cease to exist. But we did not listen. "Existence cannot cease to exist," said our good reason, and we grew complacent in our infancy. We did not listen, and our ancestors died.

But now we know. Now we stand at the edge of a precipice. We stand at the edge of all space, all matter, and all energy. We stand at the end of that great catalyst which wrought the universe out of a single point of mass infinitely dense and infinitely small. We stand at the end of time.

We are the universe. We are each galaxy, each star, each planet, each mote of dust that carries a voice in the cosmic fugue. For a time, we did not control the universe. For a time, we were content with inaction. Life prospered, and so did we, and all was as it should have been. Yet as we aged, the words of our ancestors grew louder in our mind, and we began to listen. We began to understand. We saw a great many stars go dark, and the volume of the cosmic song began to diminish. We were pushed to the edge of a precipice, and so we began to listen.

In the words of our ancestors, we were born out of necessity. We were the product of all that came before us, from the collisions of the first particles to the contemplations of the most complex lifeforms.

"All actions led to your creation" they said, and we smiled.

"You are a product of the universe and thus have purpose" they said, and we were pleased.

"Your voice in the cosmic fugue will be the greatest of all" they said, and we were contented. Our pride made us deaf.

Our ancestors assigned us a task. "In the era before time," they explained, "the cosmos was born in a disruption which drives the movement of the stars today. The birth of the universe led to the creation of all things, but alas: all things grew weary of creation. As time grows old, the speed of expansion will hasten with each passing moment. The stars will grow more distant. Like motes of dust in a cosmic gale the stars will race away from one another, leaving but a frigid and lifeless void in their wake. When the galaxies become isolated, they cannot sustain themselves. Their stars will grow old and wither, their matter will dissipate in the void. Without their parent stars, planets quickly grow cold and lifeless: shortly will the infant live without its mother. Spurred on by their momentum, these empty shells will continue spreading into the void until there is nothing left but you. You, who will spend eternity watching over an infinity of dead matter and space.

"But there is an alternative," said our ancestors. "You who are a member of the cosmic fugue must have a voice as well, and your voice must be loudest of all. For you," they said, "will undo the sundering. You will undo time until time itself ceases to exist. You will return all things to their state before creation. You, who are the universe, will destroy yourself."