The Autistic Blood Vessel glided unheard through the viscous fog. Alexandru Vromihene was trying to maintain his vertical position on the deck, next to the commander of the mercenary troop. Behind them, they waited motionless, wrapped in black robes that covered their entire bodies. They had already pulled the reality lenses over their eyes as a precaution. From below, in the hold, you could hear the rustling of the autistic pilots piloting the vessel. Beyond them, an oppressive stillness, as if the very water they were sailing through was only an impression.

The commander looked up from his dream compass. Its screen had turned phosphorescent green. The wheels and needles began to spin frantically on his dial.

"We're close," the man murmured.

From somewhere in the fog, a bell rang. The yellowish light of a lighthouse breaks anemic clouds of fog. A cold hand gripped Alexander's hand. One of the autistics, a short and skinny little boy, had come up on deck. She looked up white at him, keeping her palm on his hand, and continued to swing from one foot to the other.

"I have arrived. Prepare for disembarking", Alexandru translated the words that formed directly in his brain. "Now!"

The blood vessel jolted slightly, then seemed to sink suddenly. The prow melted beneath their feet as the craft sped straight into the gravel of the shore. A deep hiss, like a sigh, pierced the twilight silence and the vessel retreated from beneath their feet back into the seawater, resolidifying. They all stood still, the waves lapping at their thighs.

The fog lost its cotton-wool consistency and a rocky wall could be seen a few steps to the right. The violet light of a dying sun bloodied the bellies of the clouds. Without a sound, the mercenaries retreated to the stone wall. Out of the fog the bell of the Lighthouse rang again and its purulent light swept the tops of the rock walls, far above their heads. The needles of the dream compass showed maximum concentration somewhere in front of them. With a single gesture, the commander urged his men in that direction.

The beach sand was hot and humid. Alexander could hear the sound of heavy breathing, which was definitely not coming from any of the warriors. A gust of wind blew the fog off the beach at World's End. He noticed that they were advancing through a gorge, between two steep rocky walls. The terrain was climbing, so at the end of the gorge he could see nothing but blue sky.

Near the left wall, a child sitting on a boulder was weaving a wreath of flowers. Alexander stopped in astonishment, but the commander and his mercenaries continued on their way very carefully so as not to be detected. They did not seem to notice the child. He motioned for him to come closer.

He reached the little local and checked to see what his companions were doing. The warriors had stopped behind a rock at the base of the wall. The commander had sent one of his men to survey the area in front of them. Then he looked towards Alexandru, but it was clear that he still did not see the child. It didn't look so small up close. He had the body of a ten-year-old boy, but the head that swayed on his neck like a dandelion in the wind was two or three times the size of his body. A difference that he finds amazed that he had not noticed from a distance. A gnarled crutch supported his chin and supported his gigantic head on his shoulders. His eyes were a rotten beige with black irises. The child smiled and revealed two sets of yellow fangs, speckled with gray, contrasting with the rosy skin and sweet features.

"Welcome to the Lighthouse at the End of the World," he greeted.

Alexander tried not to smile stupidly. He tried to come up with a polite answer, but both attempts were unsuccessful. The commander had begun to make nervous signs at him. It was evening and the moment for which they had come to the End of the World was approaching.

"Your friends are impatient." Signal them not to wait for you. They don't need you anymore, the creature continued, smiling sinisterly.

With a bruised, sharp fingernail, she clawed at the skin on her left shoulder. In the end he managed to peel it. He inserted his fingernail under the skin and pulled slowly and carefully, tearing a strip of bloody skin from the flesh. With it he strengthened the braid of the crown, which, Alexander now noticed, was woven of dried flowers and thistles. It was clear to him that he wasn't talking to a child, and he felt it wouldn't be very smart to tell him not.

The man's smile faded and he motioned for the commander to leave without him. Whistles of mist rose from the child's bleeding flesh where he had skinned. The aubergine reflections of the sun mixed the mist above the water with blood.

- What wind brings you to the End of the World?, the creature asked him.

He had a thin and trembling voice.

- Who are you?, Alexandru managed to say his first words.

"My name is Kakmoxes." My friends would call me Kaks. That's what I think, he added with a sigh.

"Do you live on the island, Kakmoxes?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

The mercenaries had resumed their stealthy advance. Evening should find them beyond the Farm, in the middle of the Field, and by nightfall they should be back on the beach with their booty. That was how they had come to terms with the Blood Vessel pilots. Either way, if midnight caught him on the Field, the chances of him ever coming back were very slim.

"How come they can't see you?"

- I see myself, I see myself. But their mind decided not to consider me real. To them, you speak for yourself.

- You are just a dream!

Alexandru drew back, suddenly frightened by the prospect of having fallen prey to a nightmare, more than by the disturbing appearance of the interlocutor. She quickly removed her reality lenses and placed them over her eyes. The child began to laugh heartily.

"Oh, I'm much more than a dream, don't be afraid!"

Indeed, it was not just a dream. The lenses showed the little boy in the same place, braiding his crown with sickly fingers. But through the lenses, her skin was no longer pink and taut, like a child's. She had gone pale, and her wrists were grey, wrinkled and calloused. His eyes had widened in his face and turned the color of the swamp.

- So, what brings you so far from your world?, he asked Alexandru Vromihene again.

There is no turning back now. He had to play Kakmoxes' game no matter who the creature was.

- I am an imagus. I was hired as an interpreter for Lord Bureba's expedition to the End of the World.

"An imagus earns far too well in the Tuve citadels to risk his skin as a mere interpreter on a plundering expedition to other worlds," Kakmoxes told him with a smile.

— And you know too much for a child who lives on an island isolated from the rest of the world, or worlds.

- Where do you come from Tuva?

- I come from Zegetuva, from the Ion World. If I tell you what I'm looking for here, will you tell me what you are and what you're looking for here?

"It's a good deal," agreed Kakmoxes.

The fog had thinned and revealed a barren, stony hill at the end of the gorge. And beyond the hill could be seen the Farm building, dark and gloomy. Silent and lifeless. The gatherers did not go out into the field until midnight. The silvery light of the first moon stretched across the sky, trailing the evening mists. The mercenaries had resumed their stealthy advance. They had also seen the Farm and knew that behind it lay the target of their expedition—the Fields of Dreams.

"I don't understand why you don't alert your people, if you still saw us here lurking, sneaking around," Alexandru asked the child.

"Dream Stealers are the Guardians' business." If they manage to steal something and escape, then the Guardians haven't done their job and will pay for the damage with their blood. It's a simple world, Kakmoxes continued weaving the flowers.

He skinned a new strip of skin and set about tying the next part of the crown of thorns.

— The reality is that in Zegetuva I am an image of success. I would have had no reason to take this job. But more than half a year ago I started to dream something strange. The first time it was as if we were on some white and fluffy hills, covered with silver flowers. Green and red birds swirled through the air. The sky was a deep clear blue, open and wide, giving birth to brilliant horizons. In a meadow full of flowers, by a cold and rushing spring, lay in the white grass the most attractive woman I had ever seen. Beauty comes in many guises, but she was the epitome of beauty. He was… I realized immediately, the love of my life. It wasn't a rational conclusion, it just burst out of me unexpectedly. Desire was burning me and I was helpless.

The man stopped and swallowed hard. He smiled sadly. His features were fine and tired. Hands with long, neat fingers. He took off his reality lenses and looked at the child. Without the lenses, his skin looked rosy and smooth again.

— I do not know where this white world is, or who the beautiful stranger is, but it is something written in my blood long ago, perhaps before I was born, in the memory of my ancestors.

"I know what you're talking about." The memory of blood is the language of truth, the child whispered.

— After many nights like this, I dreamed that I had to get to the Lighthouse at the End of the World so that I could meet... Isabela. I found out his name at some point. Only I am from the World of Ion, a world without end. So I hired myself as an interpreter for Lord Bureba, to guide his mercenaries through Petrator. There I bought a map of the Ocean of Sorrow from Saint Peter himself, the God of Passages. I hired a Blood Vessel and marched to the End of the World. I couldn't have made it this far on my own.

— Why did you use the services of autists?

"It's impossible to travel through Radharc, coming from Petrator, without autistics!" Their blood is the only fuel that works in that world.

— That is if you obey the law of Saint Peter. But there are also more civilized methods.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Lord Bureba is not very smart if he sends his men here using the Blood Path."

"Maybe he's not, or maybe he's as smart as his world's science allows him to be." Anyway, it's your turn now.

Meanwhile, the mercenaries had disappeared beyond the stony hill. A light had appeared at one of the Farm's windows. The evening mists had descended over the surroundings and filled the gorge with quivering shadows.

Kakmoxes finishes braiding the crown. He spat into his palm and rubbed the phlegm over her heads, sticking them into a gray paste. Then he smiled again, turned his gaze to Alexander:

"I belong to Zalm." I am the God of Dreams and Mist in the World of Radharc, and have been so since before Saint Peter laid the foundations of the Petrarator. I traffic in dreams throughout the congested Middle Worlds.

- Are you the Master of Dreams? Alexander murmured with frozen blood.

- Some also tell me that. But don't be afraid. I told you the Guardians deal with dream stealers, not me. And you are not a thief. You are my guest here. You came with another purpose to the End of the World.

"If the Master of Dreams allows me, I would like to look for Isabela on his island."

"Unfortunately, Alex… can I call you Alex?" I like friendly abbreviations. Unfortunately, you came too late.

- I do not understand!

- I met Isabela. She stopped by too and, unsurprisingly, she was looking for you. He said you would be soul mates.

The man remained silent a little confused.

"But you arrived three centuries too late," continued the child with a trembling voice.

Alexander felt the world spinning around him and losing its consistency. Everything that had been reality until a second ago had changed its meaning. You swallow hard. He did not know…

From over the hill came the first screams. The Mercenaries had met the Guardians, or perhaps the Gatherers, though it was too early for the latter. The howling continued for a long time.

"I have a solution for you," Kakmoxes continued.

The Imagus was pale and shivering despite the humid heat of the island. From the black vapors echoed long and heartbreakingly the pained and desperate voices of the dream stealers.

- Ignore them. As it sounds, they met the Mother of Dreams. Which means they hadn't just come to steal some dreams, but directly their source. Arrogance and ignorance of people. That is what has always fascinated me about you. That's what got you so far into other worlds.

Suddenly, the song of angels descended from the heavens over the surroundings. The screams subsided and finally drowned in gurgles and moans. Angelic voices, interweaving in mournful choruses, enveloped the dark rolling hills that licked down the hill, towards the sands, towards the sea.

"Ah, the Gatherers are waking up," Kakmoxes sighed happily.

- God forgive me!

Alexandru's tears were involuntarily running down his cheeks.

The child god plucked a few strands of hair from his head and stuffed them into the man's ears. He took a deep breath and fell trembling to his knees.

- Isabela came here more than three centuries ago. He crossed the Fields of Dreams and passed beyond the End of the World into the Netherworld. It was the only solution so he could meet you. I will teach you how to cross the Fields and pass into the Beyond. There you will be able to find her, because she is waiting for you.

"He's been waiting for me for three centuries?"

"There is no time in the Beyond."

- You are the Master of Dreams. Could you tell me who put a dream of intrigue me?

— There is a confidentiality clause between me and all my clients. I cannot betray their trust, the god smiled.

- It could be you! Alexandru exclaimed with a wave of anger in his voice.

"I could be," agreed Kakmoxes.

"I should go back to my world right now!"

- Yes, we should. But where will you find that uplifting purpose if you abandon your adventure?

"What lofty purpose?"

"How do you know Isabela isn't your only purpose in life?" There's only one way to find out—keep going and find out what's at the end.

Alexandru looked at him annoyed:

— To pass to the Other World, you must die!

- Do not be afraid. There is no death.

"I remember reading that thousands of years ago, our avengers threw themselves on spears to carry messages to the gods of Zalm. They were known to be unafraid of death. That made them invincible.

"That's right, there is no death!"

— The gods of Zalm were gods of beginnings, gods of creation. That is until God replaced you all.

Kakmoxes watched him carefully for a few seconds. There was not a hint of irony in Alexandru's voice. He was only reciting from books.

- What you said makes no sense. God did not replace anyone. No, we were with you until God forbade others to create, reserving the privilege for himself alone. Death then took on consistency and context. We remain gods of creation despite the new order, but our worlds now have the ephemera of dreams.

"If death has gained consistency, that means it exists, right?" How can you tell me to pass into the Beyond, that there is no death, when you yourself admit that it has now acquired consistency and context?

Kakmoxes took a new crutch from his side and propped his forehead into it. He looked sadly at Alexander:

"It's a matter of faith." You had faith and came to the End of the World to meet your soulmate, and now you have no faith left to go beyond the End of the World for your love.

"I have faith in love and my purpose, just as I believe there is a higher purpose in this whole affair, but Beyond…"

"Then take this crown and wear it when you cross the Dream Fields." It will protect you from the Gatherers. But not the Mother of Dreams, or the Guardians.

Alexander rose from the sand. She slung her bag around her neck and put her reality lenses over her eyes. Then he took the crown and placed it on his head. It melted into his hair. Kakmoxes pulled two fangs from his rotting gums and sank them into the man's forehead.

— With them you will defend yourself against the Guardians. The only advice I have left is to steer clear of Mother and resist temptation. Field dreams are not for you.

Touching his forehead, the god's fangs grew into a pair of sharp, sharp horns. Alexandru felt other fangs growing on his shoulders, arms, elbows, shoulder blades. They were small, like sharp teeth.

The first moon was near the top of the sky. The second moon had risen over the sea in its turn, shedding a greenish reflection in the black waters, which embraced the silver streak of the first.

Alexander crossed the hill at the mouth of the gorge and saw the Farm with all the windows lit up. He remembered the desperate cries of the mercenaries and felt a lump in his chest. To the left, on the rocky coast, rises the tower of the Lighthouse. He took the winding road past it. The white stone of the Lighthouse was eaten away by salt and moisture. Steam coils clung to the cracks like cotton wool to scaly skin. At the foot of the tower began the Field of Dreams. A white mist, shining matte, covered him like a blanket of wool. The sea could be heard crashing, breaking against the rocks at the base of the Lighthouse. It was getting dark, but there was still at least an hour until midnight, the time of the Gatherers.

She took a deep breath, swallowing her fear, and took off across the Field. The crop was thick and tangled, soft and cold. He could hear it tearing at his advance, like rotten cloth. He was running at a steady pace, trying to maintain direction with the Farm behind him. As far as possible from the Farm, the Gatherers and the Mother of Dreams. Lord Bureba had lied to him. Maybe his people would have had a chance to steal a few dreams if they hadn't entered the Farm. How could Bureba have imagined that through a simple vulgar action she could kidnap a mystical being, probably a deity of her own kind?

Despite the tufts of hair in the god's ears, he could hear a strange noise, like the buzzing of insects. Like a huge swarm of mosquitoes, or flies. It was an annoying noise. She tried to ignore him as she tried to keep up her running pace. He had no training and already he could feel his spleen stinging. Worldly life had its say. A string of flickering lights appeared on the horizon. He stopped in astonishment, breathing heavily. He looked back, but the Farm was nowhere to be seen. Just the light of the Lighthouse, like a dull blade cutting through the steam. The first moon was high in the sky. He pressed his palm over the painful area of ​​his spleen and inhaled deeply, trying to steady his breathing. The hum of wings increased with the advance of the string of lights.

If he turned back from the road, he would have bumped into the Gatherers, who should already be in the Field. If he continued his rush, the Guardians would more than likely come from the front. And above all, his physical impotence.

Oh, Kakmoxes, god ofANDertăyou!, he thought in panic. Of what use could teeth grown under the skin now be!

He took off again in the direction of the Guardians. Approaching them, he began to make out the details. Their bodies were vaguely human, with white, mottled skin. The mouths were clefts in the broad faces, encircling half the circumference of the head. Pin-sharp, needle-thin fangs protruded from beneath their plump, aubergine lips. On their backs and arms were thousands of pairs of tiny, transparent insect wings that vibrated with tremendous frequency, supporting their soaring bodies and helping them to fly swiftly. The fins emitted a reddish light, leaving a trail behind.

At the last moment he spotted one of the mercenaries some distance ahead, probably a survivor of the slaughter at the Farm. She had sprung from the steam of dreams, where she had probably been hiding, and was running fast in the same direction as him. The guards didn't seem to notice him. The man quickly drew his sword and charged silently.

In a split second, one of the Guardians gapes its gaping mouth and swallows the warrior whole. Then its head shrinks back into place and maintains its flight formation with the others, continuing to chew.

Alexandru stopped panting. In seconds the dream guardians would swallow him too. He had forgotten the pain, he had forgotten to breathe. He throws himself down, into the white mist of dreams, and tries to stick to the ground to be completely covered. The flapping of the wings was infernal. He was fast approaching. The Imagus closed his eyes and dug his fingers into the loose soil. The noise passed quickly over him, then went away. He waited a while to make sure the distance between him and the monsters was as wide as possible, then remembered to breathe. He inhales greedily and chokes on the luminous vapor. Some sort of seed had entered his mouth. He spat scared. “Resist the temptation!” Kakmoxes had warned him. “I resist the temptation, but how can I resist the accident?” he smiled with relief. He had escaped the Guardians!

He rose to his knees, spitting and laughing. He closed his mouth and cracked a seed he hadn't felt between his teeth. He felt suffocated and warm, and a sweet taste spread over his tongue. The night caught to light up around him in soft colors. With a last effort of will, before giving in to the dream, he spat again and the hidden seed flew into the carpet of mist. He had just cracked it, not completely broken it. The darkness hissed back, in reality, and with it, a slight whoosh.

A few steps away from him, one of the Guardians emerged from the darkness. One alone, lagging behind the line of the others. A quick flap of the wings, a trail of red behind and the distance between them melted away. The monster opened its mouth and bared its teeth that had suddenly grown into sharp blades as long as swords.

Panic seized Alexander and, with it, anger. Helplessness. The divine teeth planted under his skin reflexively came out in the form of huge, thorny spikes. He heard the Guardian's fangs clash against the spikes and then he gasped with the last of his strength and lashed out desperately with his spiny arms.

He stopped when he realized that he was only hitting air and that his enemy was lying under the blanket of fog. Black drops of blood floated as if in suspension on the surface of the steam. The spikes had retreated under his skin. He was breathing jerkily. He was alone. It was quiet. It was dark in every direction. He no longer knew where he had come from and where he was going.

Trying to control his nausea, he studied the landscape for a long time. It was deserted and dark again. Then he realized that he was actually sensing again, very vaguely, the vibration of the Guardians' wings. Alexandru looked around, his heart beating violently in his chest. He still couldn't see them. He closed his eyes and concentrated. After a few seconds he opened them, turned his head to the left and made out a line of reddish dots.

He took off running in the opposite direction. His lungs were no longer burning, the pain in his spleen was gone, how far could the End of the World be? It was just on an island, it couldn't be that big. He was running without thinking, just trying to keep a steady pace and regular breathing. He ran for what felt like a whole night, but the rumble kept coming inexorably closer. He knew they would catch up with him eventually if he didn't get to his destination faster, but he didn't want to think about it. He just wanted to be able to breathe fully. His shoulders, back, shoulders, liver ached, but his legs still held on.

Finally he tripped and fell like a tree trunk, skidding through the dreams. He stood up again and heard the rustling very, very close. Out of the corner of his eye he catches the reddish light of the Guardians' wings, and then he flops onto his stomach, trying to get under the blanket of mist.

After a good few seconds, he realized that the buzzing was still as loud and wouldn't go away. He rose from the fog and looked back. The guards were lined up in an invisible line, two paces away from him. They all stared blankly at him, their mouths agape and their needle-like fangs gnashing. All of their thousands of wings whirled with a mad frenzy, spreading flames of fire into the air.

He stood up shaking and panting. He gasped at the general pain in his body. He looked at them in amazement. What were they waiting for? It was theirs. He no longer had the strength to defend himself, he had nowhere to run.

A kick to the back throws him off balance and forces him to step forward. He was within arm's reach of the dream guardians, and he could smell their sweet, putrid odor. A blast of cold air froze his cheeks. The jaws of the nearest monster snapped open in his direction.

He heard the hiss from behind him and ducked to the side before taking the second hit. He saw no one, but felt the air moved by the invisible blow. It looked like a ghost was trying to hit him with a shovel. He rolled a few steps as far away from the Guardians as possible and stood up. Behind him, the invisible shovel struck the ground twice with its blade. He frantically tore off his lenses and saw the emaciated gravedigger dragging the shovel after him.

He looked around and howled with all his despair. He had come out of the Field of Dreams into the Wild Plain, the expanse at the End of the World where dreams grew wild and uncontrollable by any God.

***

After a very long time, Alexander fell to his knees, then supported himself on his fists.

When he had removed the lenses from his eyes he found himself surrounded by all the nightmares that humanity had ever had, on all worlds and in all universes. Panic had activated his reflex where all the teeth planted under his skin by Kakmoxes had turned into fangs and spikes. His body had become a nightmare shredder. He had run, walked, then crawled all night and the next day, through mists, fogs, and foul-smelling vapors. Under the anemic light of a cloud-choked sun, through rain and thistles, through howls and growls. Through the black blood and torn flesh of wild dreams.

In order to finally reach the End of the World, on the brink of nothingness. A wave of earth covered with brambles stretched from one edge of the horizon to the other. And beyond the wave of earth was a dark void. Even the mist stood quivering, licking nothingness on the lip of the world.

He lay there for a long time on his knees, just breathing. Breathing and existing. Do not be scared. There is no death, Kakmoxes had told him. Of course there was not, God himself had told people that beyond death either Heaven or Hell awaited them. Of course there is no death in the sense of total extinction, non-being.

Warriors noANDtri didn't believe in death. That made them invincible.

"I don't understand anything anymore, Kakmoxes!"

His voice was hoarse.

Ancient warriors used spears to reach their gods. A road of no return. He knew that from the history books. But who promised them that they would end up in Heaven and not Hell? Or in fact, that they will reach their gods and not God? Kakmoxes's childish voice repeated endlessly in his mind: Don't be afraid of death…

Alexander stood up. He looked around, the gloomy evening, the brambles, the wave of earth, then the darkness beyond the End of the World. He took a deep breath and took one last step over the edge of the world.

***

He didn't know how long he had been unconscious. Or maybe dead! He floated through a space where he couldn't see, couldn't hear, and didn't fall anywhere. He tried to shout, but the sound that escaped his lips was absorbed like a sponge before it could be heard. There was no silence. There was a total lack of sound, just as there was a total lack of light. He was in the Otherworld, which actually did not exist. He was in non-existence. Not only beyond the End of the World, but also beyond the end of the road. He had defied all reason, abandoned his belief in God and life after death to find Isabela. To be with her in the Beyond, and now he was alone and nothing existed around him.

In non-being there is no time, so that its passage does not matter. All that mattered was internal time. He could feel the passage of time even without any external marker. Which meant that in non-being he was the only thing that existed. The idea horrifies him. He fell into an even crueler despair.

At one point, he felt that he was hungry. He began to cry, at the end of his exasperation. Tears didn't slide down his cheeks like they would in the normal world, but floated around his face. He could see them up to a palm's distance away, then they disappeared into the darkness. He imagined them to be raindrops, fat and heavy, late autumn rain, falling around him with an angry roar. He liked autumn. He especially liked it in big cities, with the rain drenching the stone and brick, and that oppressive gray-orange light of a rainy evening.

He opened his eyes and found with amazement that it was raining in non-existence. It was raining in thick, heavy drops from the darkness above, and around him it had begun to light up with the reddish-gray rays of the evening twilight. Caught laughing—surely so, he was an imagus. He creates images, creates visual realities for his clients' businesses. Why not for him too! He imagines a street with cobblestones wet from the rain and facades of wet red brick houses with tall, shiny windows and shingled roofs. Lanterns lit up the street every three steps and at the end of the road...

He sighed heavily. At the end of the road should have been Isabela. She closed her eyes and recalled the images from her dreams—tanned skin, red hair falling in heavy tousles over her bare shoulders, green eyes, round and large, cheekbones high and prominent, faintly painted with freckles, lips full and red. Isabela was an angel. Despite the fact that someone had manipulated her dreams and she was the victim of a dream plot, she couldn't deny that her feelings went beyond manipulation. Coincidence or not, Isabela was really his soulmate!

No matter what was created in the Otherworld, it would never be able to fill the void left by Isabel's absence…

Who was standing at the end of the street and looking around dumbfounded. It had misty gray wings growing out of its back. Finally her eyes fell on him.

- You came! she whispered.

— Isabela?

"I've been waiting for you for three centuries!"

Her eyes were dark and unflinching. He freezes.

- It is impossible! How could you know such a thing? Time does not flow here. Is that really you, the real Isabela?

— Sometimes I lost my faith, but deep down I knew that you would not abandon me.

They hugged each other with bated breath. Her wings were warm and lacked substance. However, they kept their shape. The rain had stopped at the time of the appearance. Alexandru inhaled heavily, then stopped—her hair smelled "dark." Like something kept in the closet too long. He looked into her eyes—it was she, beautiful as in the first dream and yet changed. He had not aged a single day, but he no longer had the air of freshness and cheerfulness of his memories. She was harsh and very sad.

Her fingers traced the outline of the man's face, then a heavy slap on his left cheek shook his head. He looked at her in surprise, not knowing how to react. A strange light shone in Isabela's eyes. His wings flapped, spraying mist all around. A second slap fell like lightning and burned his right cheek. He pulled back in shock.

— Isabela!

"Do you know how much three centuries is?"

He looked around in panic. At both ends of the street unfolded the darkness of non-being. Now he was sure that it was the real Isabela and not a creation of his own, because such a creation would not have slapped him! Or at least, she was what was left of Isabela after centuries of loneliness.

— Some worlds fall apart in less than three centuries, and I stood in darkness, in nothing, for three hundred years, three thousand six hundred months, 108,000 days, 2,592,000 hours...

— Now I am sure that the one who put screw intrigue on us it was Kakmoxes. He fooled us both. I was born more than two centuries after you, said Alexander.

He took her hands in a tender gesture, partly to show that he had arrived, that he was now there with her, partly to prevent future blows.

"Nobody told me I had three hundred years to wait." You can't understand! In the darkness.

His voice trembled.

"There is no time in the Beyond!" he repeated. You couldn't have felt the passage of time...

- In the lineANDthe!

Alexandru hoped to see her tears moistening her eyes. But her eyes were dry. dry They looked strange.

— Nothing solid around. In the desperately!

Her cry filled the street with echoes. He had splashed her face with saliva. She hit him in the leg bone with the toe of her boot.

Alexander grunted in pain, let go of her hands and limped a few steps back. He understood. He understood completely. He waits for the rain of blows, but they never come. Isabela was looking down the street. He had dull eyes and a lost look. Her hair, he noticed now, had lost its reddish luster, it was more like a faded, dusty chestnut. And her skin was not tanned, as he knew it in his dreams. It was a translucent white, streaked with vines and spotted with freckles. She was still beautiful, but in a blood curdling way. The wings wrapped her protectively in a cocoon of mist. She had sunk even deeper into her mind. He felt he was losing it.

"Do you like my street?" he tried, but she didn't react.

"It's the street I live on..." he continued, his voice shaking.

He sighed.

"The street…," she murmured, and at that moment he felt the street take on substance beyond his will.

That it begins to exist.

Kakmoxes. A god of Zalm, whose right to create more worlds had been taken away. Alexander understood now—this was his way of getting revenge on God. In the Beyond World, a non-existent world, beyond the End of God's World, Kakmoxes had brought two people with complementary qualities, an Imagus and a Word, with the talent and power to create a world outside of God's jurisdiction, as a final act of the frond of the old gods.

Alexandru took Isabela in his arms. He just hoped he hadn't lost it completely. She hoped that the sweet and kind Isabela of three centuries ago still existed in her troubled mind.

"Shhh, I'll take care of you," he murmured in her ear.

They walked to the end of the street and stopped in front of the darkness. The Imagus imagines a Field with flowers and trees, and in the middle of the Field a wooded hill.

"Meadow," he whispered in her ear.

"Meadow," she repeated, and the landscape came alive.

He imagined a large house on top of the hill with latticed windows and white walls. The whole picture was like an island in the middle of the dark ocean, but he surrounded it with a high and thick metal fence. He opened the gate and they entered the clearing. Below them appeared a cobblestone lane that ended at the foot of the hill with some stone steps.

"Home," he whispered.

"Home," she repeated with dry eyes.

Yes, they were home, and he had to make sure this Eve of the World Beyond couldn't venture out into the darkness, get lost, while he was off building the world.

***

Alexander created the world in seven years, then said to his children:

— I will see to it that no god enters here, defiles my creation with cruel and irresponsible divinities.

— Ce zei, Tată?, asked Michael, the eldest son, the Master of the Waters. Aren't we the gods?

— I meant false gods, answered Alexandru after a while.

I will: The Creation of the World, Book I