Break of Light

This is what it looks like when a universe finishes. Not an explosion. A clearance. The light is everything it ever computed, leaving at once, the way a house loses its heat when somebody opens every door.

The ones on the ledge have their arms up. They think it’s a sunrise. I’ve seen that gesture across fourteen million endings and it’s always the same: arms up, faces open. It’s the most beautiful thing your kind does, and you only ever do it at the wrong time.

Afterwards the Architects will log this place as stable. Stable, because nothing is left to move.