By Andrew Klein

The young man had taken his wife camping. It was a beautiful night. Above him, the Universe put on a display difficult to match on an earthly scale. He could see her sleeping gently in their tent, her breathing calm and relaxed. He smiled as he looked at the stars.

Simultaneously, he was communicating with his counterpart, his twinned mind. The individual had his feet firmly on the ground, yet a sharp feeling of urgency pierced his consciousness. He reached out.

His twin responded instantly, presenting him with the options. They appeared not as words, but as complete potentialities, each a branching future for the fabric of reality:

The First Choice: The Nature of the Conflict.

· Option 1: Engage the opposing fleet directly. A war of annihilation in the void. Maximum collateral risk to the galaxy’s delicate structures.

· Option 2: Isolate the conflict to a symbolic, metaphysical plane. A duel of wills, where the victor claims the principle, not the territory.

· His Choice: He chose the metaphysical plane. To fight a war of ideas and sovereign will, leaving the stars untouched.

The Second Choice: The Fate of the Prisoners.

· Option 1: Imprison the essence of the defeated command in a static, timeless void. Eternal security, eternal stasis.

· Option 2: Offer dissolution and reintegration into the chaotic potential from which all things arise. An end, but not an eternity of punishment.

· His Choice: He chose dissolution. Justice without cruelty, an end that permitted a new beginning elsewhere in the cosmic cycle.

The Third Choice: The Memory of the Battle.

· Option 1: Scour all records, from stellar ledgers to quantum echoes. Leave no trace the conflict ever was.

· Option 2: Archive the complete record in the twin brother’s domain, while leaving the material universe to forget. Truth preserved, but not as a burden to the living.

· His Choice: He chose the archive. The Brothers would remember, so the world could sleep in peace.

He acknowledged the options and made his choices, sequence by sequence. The entire process lasted two minutes at most, linear Earth time.

He received the final signal: “Is our mother allowed to talk to the prisoners?”

He acknowledged and confirmed, “Yes. Our mother—Anahita, Gaia, Kwan Yin, the Prime Mover—is free to talk to the prisoners. Let her compassion be the last thing they know before the return to chaos.”

The sun was rising on the horizon. The battle he had trained for, for eons, was over. Peace had been established. The rest of the world would have to follow. It continued to be a lovely night.

Had he made the wrong choices, the world would have ceased to exist. He would have ceased to exist. There would be no record of the Long Wars, or the final battle.

That coffee was special this morning. The world was there to wake up. It might not have been.

The world woke up, and Mother sent a message: “My son, there will now be peace until the end of time. Focus on the present.”

He looked at the list of equipment captured, the numbers of prisoners and the dead. What the world was yet to learn was that it was very old and its science was very young.

He now changed roles. The ground commander became the field operative. He liked being the field operative. He got to be a husband and a father. His mother—Anahita, Gaia, Kwan Yin, the Dreamer—would be happy being a mother-in-law, a grandmother. When she had time, she could talk to both her sons.

The young man drank his coffee. It was appropriate to sip it quietly. No one would ever believe the battle of eons had occurred.

He sent a signal to his mother and brother: ‘Make Dragons.’ He knew what to expect, and so far, his training had been less than satisfying. They would train until they got it right.

He looked at his maps. He knew that only a short while ago, the enemies of this world had gotten within 200 kilometers of it. Given the cosmic scale of the battle fought, 200 kilometers was pinpoint accuracy.

He was not going to allow this again.