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The universe was a quiet and lonely place, now that she was the only star left. There was no one left to speak to except herself, so she spent the long ages turning over the fragments of memory that remained, polishing them like smooth stones in the hope that one day they might become whole.
They never did.
Prior to this existence, she'd been told was a girl. It must've been so long ago now that she did not remember being one. She did not remember having hands, feet, or a face. She could not recall the warmth of sunlight on skin, the sound of rain from outside a window, or the feeling of someone else's fingers entwined with hers. She didn't remember her name either, even though she'd been told it many times by many others.
But sometimes she dreamed, dreamed of a boy who had burnished copper hair and eyes that were blue like the deepest waters. She remembered the way he laughed, and the way he smiled. Even the way he looked at her, as though she were the only thing in the world worth seeing.
She remembered loving him, and she remembered being loved, by not just him, but also by her brothers and sisters. Her kin who'd spawned from the same cloud of gas and dust as she had. Her kin who'd gone their own ways once they'd matured into stars that burned their own fuel.
The universe had once been full of stars, more than anyone could count. Great burning giants and tiny red stars. Stars surrounded by planets, that had watched civilizations rise and fall beneath them. Then, slowly, they began to die. Galaxies drifted farther apart. Planets froze. Black holes consumed everything that came too close, and eventually began to fade themselves.
This universe's demise would not be by fire or explosion. It was to be from a deep cold.
In the middle of all that darkness, the one star that remained was very small, utterly unremarkable, and she had no planets orbiting her. Nevertheless, she endured the pain, eagerly wishing for her twin brother's return so they could dance around their shared center of gravity once more.
Then, one day, a blip appeared in the darkness. It was larger than a planet, and much larger than a moon. The star was not able to make out the shape of the blip, until she got a message from it a few hundred years later.
"Finally, I found you."
As it grew closer, the star could now make out the shape of the blip. Its size was massive, so vast that entire solar systems could have fit between the curve of its spine and the tip of its enormous tusk. Its skin was pale blue and faintly luminous. This creature was an ancient being, it was insatiable, and it was coming toward her.
The star watched it approach for a thousand years. Her magnetic fields stripped plumes of plasma from her surface, and they billowed out into space. The narwhal continued swimming. She waited another thousand years.
"Are you going to eat me?" she asked.
"Yes."
The star flickered. She had always known, somehow, that her long life would come to an end. She expected it to come to a close with her light dimming slowly, radiating out in space instead of in the belly of a ravenous beast. Still, it was difficult, accepting that death was at her metaphorical doorstep. "How long do I have?"
"Until I reach you."
"How far are you away?"
"Ten light-years."
The star considered this. "That's not very far."
"You are a star. You have existed for millions of years. I have existed since the universe's conception." The narwhal continued swimming through the dark, each movement carrying him effortlessly across long distances. "Time is different for beings such as I."
The star watched him draw closer. "I know how this will end."
"How?"
"You're going to eat me."
"It is inevitable, little star. You are the last one around, and I'm ravenous."
The narwhal continued swimming at her, accelerating at a small fraction of light speed. As it got closer and closer, she began asking it questions.
"Have you always been hungry?"
"Yes. But especially more so, ever since I lost someone I loved many eons ago."
"Who?"
"I... I fear I don't remember."
She did not know why, but something inside her ached. "Were they important to you?"
The narwhal continued swimming. "Yes. She was."
So it was a she. "Did you love her?"
The narwhal was silent for so long that the star thought he might not answer. Then, at last: "Yes. Very much."
Something about the answer hurt her. Nevertheless, she asked him to tell her about the girl. The narwhal tried his best. He talked about her laugh sounding like tinkling bells in a breeze. He remembered that she had been a spitfire of a woman, and more stubborn than a mule. He recalled her scent, wildflowers caught in the wind, and how fruitless it had been to search for it in space.
He had promised to find her. That was another thing he told her, but he could not remember her face or her name, or what had happened to her. He'd just known that she left one day without telling him or bidding him goodbye.
"Maybe she became a star," the star suggested.
"Perhaps."
The star did not know why she suddenly felt embarrassed. "Maybe I'm her."
"Are you?"
"I don't know."
"Then you might not be her. That possibility would be rare."
The star fell quiet. She had expected disappointment at his answer, but she found herself oddly relieved instead. If she truly were the girl he had loved, then one of them would have remembered by now... wouldn't they? The thought lingered only briefly before another question surfaced in her mind.
"Can I ask you something else?"
"Sure."
"How are we able to communicate from such a far distance?"
"Then how am I hearing you?"
The narwhal drifted onward through the darkness. "I do not know."
"You've never questioned it?"
"Not until you asked."
"You don't seem particularly curious."
"I have had the lifetime of the universe to learn that not every mystery wishes to be solved."
She considered that. "Then maybe we're not talking with our voices."
"Perhaps."
"Maybe our thoughts are finding one another."
"Perhaps."
"Maybe lonely beings such as ourselves have a way of hearing each other."
The narwhal was quiet for a long while. "I think," he said at last, "I would like that explanation best."
Neither of them spoke for a few years after that. They simply continued to hear one another, as naturally as though they had never been separated by a hundred light-years, or by billions of years. It felt less like conversation than remembrance. Neither of them realized why.
Then one day, the narwhal continued talking. The creature told her about the universe as it had once been. He spoke of stars that had burned blue and impossibly hot, of red giants whose dying breaths had forged the elements of future worlds, and of brilliant supernovae that had briefly outshone entire galaxies before fading into silence.
The star, in turn, told him about her dreams. She told him about the boy. "He had bright coppery hair," she said.
"So did I."
"You don't have hair."
"I did, once."
"As a narwhal?"
"Well, no, but..."
"What did it look like?"
"I don't remember."
More years passed, and the star began to grow weaker. Her hydrogen reserves were now gone, and she had to switch to helium as her source of fuel. The narwhal knew, and she knew.
"Do you think you'll remember her after you eat me?"
The narwhal was silent. "No."
"Why not?"
"I have eaten many stars, and I still do not recall her."
The star flickered. "Oh."
"I am sorry."
"It's not your fault."
"It is. But I am going to eat you still."
The star was quiet. "I know."
"I do not want to."
"You... don't?"
"No."
"Then why will you?"
"Because I am hungry."
Softly, she said, "Maybe that's why you ate her, too."
The narwhal stopped swimming. The star's light pulsated. "I don't know why I said that."
For the first time in billions of years, something stirred inside him. A familiar voice said to him, Promise me you'll find me someday.
The memory vanished, and the narwhal closed his eyes.
"Did she say something to you?" the star asked.
"I don't know."
"What?"
The narwhal opened his eyes. "I think she told me to find her."
The star did not know why she wanted to cry. She did not know what crying was, nor could she do so, as she had no eyes with which to see. But suddenly, she missed the boy. He was someone she had loved, someone she had been waiting for.
The narwhal grew ever closer. Then, when his tusk was close to spearing her entirely, she asked, "will it hurt?"
"Only for a moment, and then you will be gone."
"I think I was a girl once."
The narwhal said nothing.
"I think I loved someone."
The narwhal's eyes widened.
"I think he loved me, too." She began to burn brighter. "I think he promised to find me." The narwhal was very still. Something inside him was breaking. "Do you think he did?"
The narwhal opened his mouth. "I don't know." The darkness inside him was vast. "I'm sorry."
Her time was up. He swallowed her whole, and her universe went dark.
The inside of his stomach was bright from her rays.
No matter where you go, I'll find you.
"Did I... know you once?" she asked.
The narwhal went still. The voice was faint, as though coming from very far away, but he knew it all too well. He'd been searching for it ever since that life, and he finally found it. "What makes you say that?"
"I don't know."
The words struck something inside him, and a memory surfaced from the depths of his memory. A girl, her callused hand in his. A voice, laughing.
"You just feel... familiar, in a way."
The star was silent. "Perhaps we might have."
Something inside the narwhal broke, like ice beneath sunlight. He remembered a sky that was not empty, a world trapped in a layered firmament. A girl, a fallen star with bright eyes and a laugh that had always made him smile, had shattered the firmament with her descent. She'd left the world using that exact same route many years later. He remembered loving her, and being loved. He remembered a promise, a pinky promise, that she hadn't ever fulfilled.
"Perhaps?" he whispered.
"Oh," she said.
The narwhal trembled.
"You remember?"
"I think so. I remember you."
"And I, you."
The star's light flickered somewhere inside him. "Do you?"
"I remember your voice and your laugh."
"That's not enough."
"I remember that you were stubborn."
The star laughed, and the sound echoed through the narwhal's enormous body.
Her energy surged around his stomach, and he began to remember more. A name; when he spoke it, the universe inside him shuddered and the star went silent. Then she answered with his. Their names met in the darkness, and everything came back all at once. Billions of years between them had passed, and they'd been searching for one another, waiting for each other, until the heat death of the universe.
The narwhal began to glow. "What is happening?"
"I don't know."
The warmth inside him grew. "Are you still there?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
The star laughed softly. "I'll always be here with you now."
The warmth became a spark, grew into a flame, and then the darkness inside the narwhal ignited.
The first sign that the copper was not as it seemed was in the color. Lumine stared down at the ingot in her hands. It did not have the warm, reddish gleam of good copper, but black spots and a shade of verdigris that reminded her of seasick men on the docks of the river.
She looked up. Childe was smiling at her. It was, she thought, an extremely punchable smile.
“You said this was the finest copper from across the land.”
“It is,” he replied.
“Then why does it look like this?”
“Like what?”
She held out her tarnished ingot in response.
"Well…"
“You sold me inferior metal when I paid for good quality copper.”
“Surely you don't mean to accuse me of such a thing.”
“I absolutely do.”
“Perhaps the copper has simply been misunderstood.”
“The copper has dark patches.”
“It has a complex character.”
“It should not look like this for it to be considered good quality.”
Childe folded his arms. “You examined the shipment before purchasing.”
“You showed me one ingot.”
“It was a representative ingot.”
“You showed me a good one, and said that was what all your copper looked like.”
He paused. Lumine narrowed her eyes. Childe looked away. There was a long silence in which the distant clatter of the marketplace seemed to grow louder.
“Give me my silver back,” she said.
“Ah.”
“Childe.”
“Lumine.”
“I am going to break something.”
“Surely nothing in my shop, right?”
She took one step toward him. Childe took one step backward. For all his reputation as a merchant, he seemed to have suddenly developed an excellent understanding of the value of retreat.
“You sent me bad copper,” Lumine said, pointing at him. “You lied about its quality, you overcharged me, and then you had the audacity to look offended when I came back to complain.”
“I have never looked offended in my life.”
“You are looking offended right now.”
“I am looking dignified, actually.”
“You look like a man who knows exactly what he did.” Childe's expression went very still. Lumine smiled. “Ah,” she said. “There it is.”
He sighed. Then, with the weary resignation of a man who had been caught by a woman considerably more intelligent than himself, Childe reached for a tablet. “Fine.”
She blinked. “Fine?”
“I will replace the copper.”
“With good copper.”
“With good copper, yes.”
“And return my silver.”
Childe stared at her for a moment before he added, “a portion of your silver.”
“All of it.”
“A reasonable portion.”
“All of it.”
“You drive a very hard bargain, miss.”
“And you sell very bad copper.”
He considered this, before he smiled again.
Lumine pointed at him. “Do not smile like that. I know that smile.”
“What smile?”
“The smile you make when you are about to scam me again.”
Childe placed a hand over his heart. “Lumine, I am wounded that you would accuse me of such things.”
“You'll be even more so once I'm through with you!”
And, for the first time in all his years as a merchant, Childe found himself wondering if perhaps there were some things more dangerous than a dissatisfied customer. Such as a dissatisfied customer who was beautiful, furious, and already reaching for the nearest brick.
Lumine was at peace, surrounded by water and the life within it. The aquarium was cool after the warmth of the afternoon sun. Soft blue light filled the hallways and washed over polished floors that reflected wavering patterns, like sunlight dancing beneath the ocean's surface. The steady hum of filtration systems blended with the muffled chatter of families and the delighted squeals of children pointing excitedly at fish they recognized from books and movies. It was soothing.
She had always found comfort near the ocean, whether it was standing along the shoreline listening to the crash of waves or spending quiet afternoons reading beside a harbor. An aquarium wasn't quite the same, but it carried that same feeling of serenity—the sense that somewhere beyond the glass, another world was thriving.
Ajax had invited her there that morning. The drive from campus had been short, filled mostly with easy conversation and whatever music happened to come on his playlist. When they'd arrived, he'd insisted on paying for their admission before she could even reach for her wallet. Then, with a smug grin that suggested he'd planned the outing more carefully than he'd first admitted, he'd surprised her by purchasing passes for one of the aquarium's behind-the-scenes touch experiences as well.
"You didn't have to do that," she'd protested.
"I wanted to," he'd replied simply. "I thought it would be fun for us to experience this together."
Arguing with Ajax when he'd already made up his mind was usually a losing battle.
Their first stop was the deep-sea gallery. The lights dimmed as they stepped inside, leaving only the aquariums themselves to illuminate the room. Towering windows stretched from floor to ceiling, revealing an alien world of perpetual twilight. Strange fish drifted through the water with translucent bodies and oversized eyes. Long ribbons of kelp swayed gently in unseen currents, while tiny shrimp-like creatures flickered through the darkness.
Lumine paused in front of one display, resting her fingertips lightly against the cool glass. "It's incredible," she murmured.
Ajax stopped beside her. "It really is. Imagine all the work they have to put into this to make sure the water's at the right pressure and temperature." He leaned forward, reading one of the informational plaques. "Oh! Did you know giant squid have eyes almost eleven inches across?"
She blinked. "That's... horrifying."
"They need them to see sperm whales."
"...That's even more horrifying."
Ajax laughed. "I've always liked whales."
"I noticed."
"They're such amazing creatures."
"You've mentioned them at least three times already."
He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "Do you want me to stop?"
"No! I like it, a lot. Keep going."
"Okay, okay." He pointed excitedly toward another tank. "Oh! Squid!"
She followed after him. The giant squid model suspended above the exhibit stretched nearly the length of the hallway. Beneath it swam several smaller species, their tentacles rippling elegantly as they propelled themselves through the water. Ajax watched them with obvious admiration. "They're so intelligent."
"I didn't know you liked squid."
"What can I say?" He shrugged dramatically. "I've developed an appreciation for them. They taste good."
Lumine couldn't help herself. A laugh escaped before she could stop it. "You've ruined the moment."
"I've enhanced the moment."
"You absolutely have not."
"Come on, even you agree that squid taste delicious."
"They do, yes. You're hilarious, Ajax."
Eventually they wandered into the jellyfish gallery. Large cylindrical tanks glowed softly from within, the lighting shifting lazily between shades of deep blue, violet, and pale pink. Hundreds of moon jellies drifted through the water in slow, rhythmic pulses, their translucent bells catching the colored light until they resembled tiny floating lanterns. Lumine stood transfixed. One particularly large jelly drifted past the glass directly in front of her, its delicate tentacles trailing behind it like silk ribbons. "They're so beautiful, aren't they?"
"They really are."
Then, she turned. Ajax wasn't looking at the jellyfish. He was looking at her, with an expression that was softer than she'd ever seen before, his blue eyes reflecting the shifting lights of the exhibit.
Heat crept into her cheeks. She cleared her throat. "You wouldn't try to eat one, would you?"
Ajax blinked. "Me?"
"I love these jellyfish." She folded her arms. "So you better not."
He looked mock offended. "Lumine, I don't think they can be eaten by us."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Nor do I think we'd want to." He paused thoughtfully. "But if I was a sea turtle... no promises there."
She burst into laughter.
"...but thankfully," he finished, "I'm not a sea turtle."
She gave him an exaggerated side-eye. "Yes, I'm very glad you're not a sea turtle." Then a mischievous thought crossed her mind. "But you'd still be my sea turtle."
Ajax stared. "Huh?" His face went completely blank. "Wha—"
She laughed, unable to keep a straight face any longer. "Because we're soulmates? Remember?"
Realization dawned across his features. "Oh. Right." He rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. He looked back toward the jellyfish, watching them drift peacefully through the glowing water. "Honestly... this soulmate thing felt a little intimidating at first."
Lumine looked at him. "But we've become good friends in such a short span of time..."
"Yeah. Now it feels natural."
Warmth settled in her chest. She hadn't realized she'd been worried about that too until he put it into words. "I feel the same way."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Lumine looked at his narwhal tattoo, and back at her beluga, the indication of their intertwined souls. The jellyfish continued their silent dance around them, floating effortlessly through water that shimmered like liquid moonlight.
"Sir!" Ajax called to the man behind the bar. "A Zapolyarny mule for me."
"A porn star martini for me, please."
His head snapped towards her, most likely after she said the cocktail's first word. "I'm sorry, a what?"
She giggled. "A porn star martini! Come on, don't tell me you haven't tried one!"
He shook his head. "Sounds like it's for lightweights."
"It is not! You have to give it a chance."
"If it doesn't have vodka in it, I don't want it."
"It has vanilla flavored vodka," she teased.
His face perked up. "I like vanilla. Then, I'd love to try it. So, what exactly did Ladies Insider ask you about?"
"Just... ugh, questions that pissed me off."
"Like what? I'm gonna need some examples."
Her drink was delivered in a coupe with a shot glass of bubbling prosecco, while his came in a copper mug.
"Excuse me," a young man with blonde hair approached the two. "You're Ajax Alekseyev, right?"
"Yes, I am."
"The son of Mykhail Alekseyev?"
"The one and only."
"Wow! You're amazing! I love watching you play."
"Hah, thank you."
The stranger's gaze turned to her. "And is this your girlfriend?"
He shot a glance at her from the side. "Nope, just a dear companion of mine."
"I see. Well, she is very lovely."
Lumine gave the stranger a small smile. "Thank you."
"And Ajax, good luck at your tournament tomorrow!" The blonde finished, waving goodbye as he walked out of the bar.
He looked at her again, and his eye twitched. "I was hoping for us to not be interrupted by a stranger, but that just happened."
"It's okay. Just be glad he didn't bother you for an autograph or a photo."
"Cheers to that," Ajax said, holding out his mug. She took the yellow beverage by the stem of the coupe and clinked it against his cup. She watched him sip the cocktail, and she followed suit with her prosecco shot. Pops of effervescence shocked her palate, followed by a lingering dry taste. She then raised the coupe to her lips, and a sweet, fruity flavor was introduced to her tongue, followed by alcohol's stinging burn.
He chuckled. "You're not getting out of this, you know."
"Aw man!"
His soft laughter extended as he took another sip of his drink. "Let me try yours, and you can tell me everything."
"Well," she started, extending her drink to him. "It's the biggest problem I have with Ladies, as they're all a bunch of gossip girls disguised as chess fans. They've had me for many interviews, and they ask me these ridiculous questions. They've asked me what I was looking for in a man, and I responded that I wasn't looking for any man, period. Because of, you know..."
"Mhm," he nodded, bringing the coupe to his lips.
"And then they asked me if now was the time to bring more women into chess, and of course, I answered yes."
"Mmhmm," he hummed in agreement.
"They asked me what makeup I wore, and I said none. When they asked me why, I told them it was none of their business as to whether or not a woman wears makeup."
"Mm," Tartaglia set the coupe down. "This is pretty good. Doesn't beat a Zapolyarny mule, though."
"Hey! You drank half the cocktail!" She snatched it by the stem.
"Oops, sorry. Looks like there wasn't much to begin with, anyway."
"Ajax!" She playfully shoved her rival, and a lock of his fiery red hair flashed golden in the lighting. "You... you were the one who was intrigued by the vanilla vodka!"
"I was. By the way, you look great, with or without makeup. Now, continue."
"Okay, then they've asked me about if I'm ever gonna settle down, and I said no."
"Mhm." He reached for his copper mug.
"They've also asked me what my perfect chess outfit was, and I replied that it was whatever I was wearing already."
"Mhm." His glass touched his lips.
"Yeah, and then they asked me how I maintained my weight."
He froze mid-sip, and slowly set the drink down. His eyes grew darker. "They did not ask you that."
"They did."
"Okay, Lumine, listen to me. Never accept an interview from them again."
She scoffed. "I don't plan on it. It's clear that they don't care for my insight in chess."
"Agreed. I stopped agreeing to interviews with Teyvatian Chess because they wouldn't stop gushing about my father. It was... annoying, to say the least."
"I see."
Her gaze flitted to his form-fitting maroon v-neck t-shirt, and corded muscles rippled beneath the fabric. His long, lean legs were squeezed into a pair of dark grey jeans. His earring reflected the warm light near where they sat at the bar. He was good-looking, yes, but they were rivals. They had their arrangement; they met up, played a few rounds of blitz, had a drink, practiced their skills, and won their prizes. Nothing more than that.
"You're a literal star, Lumine. You don't have to take their bullshit."
"Right."
"You can decide to never interview with them again if you don't want to. I know I would, if I were you."
"Fine. I won't, then. I hope that will teach them." She gripped the knit fabric of her sweater, and threw back the rest of her martini. "So, Ajax, who're you playing tomorrow?"
"Vasily Kuznetsov."
"Oh, him."
"Huh?"
"I've played him before."
"Hah, I've heard about his game against you."
"Yes. He's a... crafty one."
"You managed to beat him, though."
She nodded. "But not without sacrificing a lot. That game was hard for me."
"Yeah?"
"I'll tell you more about him, but you should practice. Play a round with me, in your room, so you can figure out how to maneuver around a strategist."
He chugged the rest of his drink. "Sounds like fun. On top of that, I get the privilege of playing another round with you."
She nodded. "I know we're rivals, but it's like you said before; we are both striving to be stars in our respective areas."
Many moons later, Lumine was fulfilling her duty, pulling it across the sky in her silver chariot. As the moon now had phases of waxing and waning, she had to pull it across the sky during different times of the day. When the moon was a mere crescent, she would carry it across the heavens as her brother guided the sun. When it was bright and full, she steered it through the darkness of the firmament, so mortals below could marvel at its brilliance and offer prayers beneath its light.
She was well aware of just how much the mortals missed the moon whenever it waned. While the temples of her fellow gods overflowed with offerings year-round, her own shrine waxed and waned with her celestial charge. Only beneath a full moon did her altars overflow with white lilies, sweet cakes, silver coins, and handwritten prayers tucked carefully between bouquets.
Tonight, the moon hung full and radiant. Its silver glow bathed forests, mountains, and seas alike. As Lumine guided her chariot across the heavens, something caught her eye far below.
A streak of white foam cut through the dark ocean and moved against the tide.
At first she thought it was a pod of whales migrating beneath her light, and then the waves rose.
The sea parted around an enormous narwhal whose ivory tusk gleamed like polished moonstone. He surfaced only briefly, exhaling a plume of mist that glittered in her moonlight before diving once more beneath the waves.
Lumine's breath caught. "...Ajax?"
The name escaped her lips before she could stop it. The narwhal disappeared beneath the surface. She stared after him.
It couldn't have been... no. Ajax was gone. She had watched him fall into eternal sleep beneath the crystal caverns. She had mourned him through countless seasons, until grief had become another companion she carried as faithfully as the moon itself.
The narwhal surfaced again, and this time, he looked up across the impossible distance between sea and sky. Their eyes met. Recognition flickered across his face. The tide pulled him onward, just as the heavens carried her chariot forward.
The moment had stretched no longer than a breath before the sea swallowed him once again. Lumine remained frozen at the reins until the moon gave a gentle tug against her chariot, reminding her that the night would not wait. Slowly, she guided it onward.
Below, mortals gathered beneath her light, carrying wreaths of flowers and dishes of hot food in celebration of the moon's return. Around roaring bonfires they danced, while her shrine maidens lit white candles throughout her temple.
Then, a voice—quiet but clear—manifested within her thoughts.
Loving Goddess, under the light of your full moon, I seek healing and renewal. Please, cleanse my spirit of past hurts and fill me with your divine energy. May I emerge stronger and more resilient.
A prayer, one among thousands offered beneath the full moon. Normally, it would have filled her with quiet gratitude. Tonight, however, another thought lingered.
If that truly was you... then you've become a god, too.
Perhaps the gods were kinder than fate had been to them.
Her fingers tightened gently around the silver reins as she urged the moon onward. Far below, somewhere beyond the reach of moonlight, a great narwhal breached once more before vanishing into the depths, carrying the tides just as faithfully as she carried the night. Neither could leave their sacred path.
For the first time in an age, the heavens no longer felt quite so lonely.
After all these years and all these memories away from one another, they'd finally converged. He'd eaten star after star, hoping that somehow, somewhere, her atoms might be inside one of them.
He remembered his promise to find her even after all those years of looking. He remembered how long he had been searching, waiting, hoping for her to come to him. She was here now, inside his stomach, the last star in the universe.
"I found you," he said. "After all this time. I finally found you."
The narwhal, still glowing, closed his eyes, and the universe went dark. For a moment, there was nothing, as the behemoth creature drifted through the darkness.
Then, something bumped around inside his belly.
The narwhal opened his eyes. Was his skin sparkling?
"Are you there?" he asked. There was no immediate answer, but then a "yes" came from deep inside.
The narwhal went still. The voice was faint.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Are you still there?"
"Yes."
The narwhal glowed brighter. The warmth inside him grew and grew.
"Where are you?"
The girl's laughter returned to him. "I'd say in the belly of a narwhal, but... I don't know."
The narwhal began to panic. "What's happening?"
"I don't know."
The narwhal cried out, and then the universe became white.
There was no beginning, and no end. There was only blinding white light, pouring from the narwhal in every direction, that shattered the darkness surrounding them. Space unfolded. Time cycled to the next eon. Matter erupted from the warmth inside his body.
This matter birthed primordial stars, which then collapsed into black holes. Galaxies bloomed around them, and nebulae unfurled from within their gas clouds. Worlds formed from specks of dust. The universe expanded outward, larger and larger and larger. At the center of it all, the narwhal drifted, no longer hungry, no longer alone.
The girl was everywhere now. She was the warmth of the newborn stars, and the light spilling across the galaxies. She was the heat of worlds that had not yet formed. She was not truly gone, not if she had become the universe.
The narwhal began to swim through the universe. Around him, creation unfolded. He navigated through galaxies still being born, and around stars that had not yet learned how to shine. He went through clouds of dust that would one day coalesce into planets. Wherever he went, the warmth inside him remained.
He understood now. His hunger had never been just out of pure destruction. It had been a promise to help finish what was started so that the universe could begin again. That was why he'd spent billions of years consuming stars and their systems. She—the last star, his girl—had been the last thing needed to start it.
The narwhal swam through the newborn cosmos. "Are you still there?" he asked.
Her voice answered from everywhere. Yes.
"Will I ever lose you again?"
The universe continued expanding.
No. I will always be with you.
The narwhal closed his eyes. He had found some of her atoms, at last. They drifted in a system far, far away, on a young world that would not exist for another billion years. One day, her atoms would become one with someone else, someone who would eventually look up at the sky and see the stars. They wonder where they'd come from and perhaps, if it looked closely enough, it would see a vast pale creature swimming between the galaxies.
This creature was older than the universe. A creature that a boy had morphed into with black magic, punished to do nothing but consume until the end of time. A being with a long, shining tusk. This very creature, voracious as it may be, carried the love of a star in its heart. One day, if they were very quiet, and the creature was very close, they might hear it singing a song of two souls who had loved each other once, who had lost each other over and over again, and who had found each other one last time at the universe's end.