“Ahem!” called Somnus from the doorway. “Good to see you again, Future Provisional Visitor! It’s been—well, not too long.”

  “Lord of Dreams! Any time is too long.” Proto held his hand out for a fistbump.

  Somnus frowned at that fist, then at his brother. “Rubbing off on him already, are you? To think! I had such high hopes for him, when the Shadowcaster showed him in a robe like mine. Anyhow, yes fine to see you too, Ostensible Future Provisional Visitor.”

  “So, what’s the big secret?” pressed Proto, undaunted.

  “Ah. That.” Somnus’ lips quirked. “I . . . maybe might’ve misled you about something. Though I said nothing technically untrue. If you look at it properly.”

  “ . . . uh-huh?” said Proto.

  “I mean, I’m speaking in the past tense!” explained Somnus, sounding preemptively defensive. “But none of this has happened yet. Really, I’m going to mislead you about something.”

  “ . . . uh-huh?” said Proto.

  “Ugh, stop that, it makes me feel like a con artist,” chastised the Lord of Dreams. “Anyhow, on your Saturn Return, Proto, you’ll come to my lounge, and I’ll make my big revelation about your car accident, your coma, and your misty journey to my palace. Still recall that?”

  “Hard to forget,” observed Proto.

  “One would think, but one never knows with you,” shrugged Somnus. “Or so my mother tells me.”

  “So, yes, on your Saturn Return,” the robed man went on, “you recall I shared with you some memories of your final run before the car accident? You listened to that song on your earbuds, you passed that yard sale sign, you ran down Cherry Blossom Lane, you saw those swirling sakura petals that Lilac loves, you prided yourself on your bronze medal, and so forth?”

  “Hard to forget,” repeated Proto. “Being blasted to bits by a car is pretty memorable.”

  “Yes. Well, um.” Somnus paused. “I’m not sure how to say this, Proto, but those weren’t memories.”

  Proto pondered what Somnus might be getting at. “Well . . . right. Since my accident hasn’t happened yet. So those aren’t technically memories. It’s the future. Got it.”

  “Well . . . no. You don’t ‘got it’ yet,” winced Somnus. “It’s a bit hard to explain.”

  “What he means is, your memories aren’t the future. They’re just a subjunctive possibility!” offered Flua-Sahng. “Does that help?”

  “Not especially,” said Proto.

  “Mm, I tried,” she shrugged. “Back to you, Son.”

  “Forget about tenses! Unless you’re an English major, they just make things more confusing,” waved Somnus. “Here’s the bottom line, Proto. That whole car accident episode wasn’t a memory. It was just a one-in-a-million possibility. And you have to make sure it happens! Or so my mother tells me.”

  “He’s quite right,” affirmed Flua-Sahng, picking a nail. “As he tends to be, when he repeats what I tell him.”

  Proto sifted through Somnus’ words. “I still don’t get it. You just mean I have to go for a run on the proper day? Like I already did?”

  “No, not like you already did,” the Queen of Heaven responded patiently. “What we mean, Sleepwalker-Proto, is that you have to make sure a 212-horsepower automobile not-so-randomly hits Wakey-Wake Proto! Among other things.”

  “To put it differently, Proto, one time, you thought to yourself, ‘Going on a run and being on Cherry Blossom Lane at roughly the right time should be enough. Fate will take care of the rest,’” she recounted.

  “It was a good thought, but it wasn’t quite right. Fate wasn’t taking care of the rest. Flua-Sahng was.” She smiled and flushed modestly with rose-gold radiance. “And, as usual, I did so by working through my agents. Like you.”

  “You will do that, you mean,” offered Somnus.

  “Back to correcting my tenses again,” sighed the Mother of All. “Well, every mother has her day. Had. Should have?”

  Proto stared, ignoring their banter. “Let me get this straight. There was no ‘original timeline’ where I had a car accident. The memories Somnus showed me weren’t memories at all. I was never going to have a car accident, unless I deliberately caused it myself. You got me to go running as Wakey-Wake Proto at exactly the right time and place for that accident to happen. And now, you want me to finish the job as Sleepwalker Proto, by making sure my waking self gets hit by that car?! That’s how I save Time?!”

  Flua-Sahng and Somnus looked at each other, then at Proto, both wincing smiles out. “Yes,” they affirmed simultaneously.

  “Well, up till that last sentence,” Flua-Sahng added. “You’ll need to do more than that to save Time.”

  “The car accident is necessary but not sufficient,” clarified Somnus.

  “Meaning?!” demanded Proto.

  “Oh, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s take it day-by-day,” waved Flua-Sahng. “Let’s keep things on a need-to-know basis.”

  “Meaning?!” demanded Proto.

  She rolled her eyes. “Meaning, I’ll tell you what you need to know when you need to know it, Sleepwalker. Because I can now! You’re not a visitor or seer; you’re a sleepwalker! The subtle and forgotten truths I can tell you are nigh-limitless!”

  “Speaking of which,” Perkunos broke in. While the others spoke, he’d been practicing his dual-wielding skills, slicing up a practice dummy with both his shining white longsword and a random cane-sword. He didn’t seem interested in conversations about how living out visions of the future creates an impression of time travel, but with subtly different implications regarding causality and predetermination of future events.

  “Speaking of sharing all your subtle and forgotten truths, Momster,” the warrior went on, “did you ever tell Pro Bro about your reenactment of how humans became 2% Neanderthal?”

  “Nigh-limitless, I was very careful to say!” exclaimed the Mother of All, reddening.

  “Ah, my favorite of the paleolithic millennial parties!” recalled Somnus happily.

  “What happens at millennial parties, stays at millennial parties!” she protested.

  “‘Your tools look so big!’” observed Perkunos in a feminine voice. “‘Is that stone? Or are you just happy to see me?’”

  “‘My, how long your facial structure is,’” cooed Somnus. “‘Among other things.’”

  “I’m about to boot you both back to the Stone Age!” she fumed, glancing at Proto. “Should’ve been Mother of None! Well, no, it’s just the speaking ones who give me trouble. Mother of All Except Humans and Parrots.”

  “Oh, but let’s talk about that!” cried Somnus. “I’ve never quite understood—”

  “That’s it!” Flua-Sahng broke in, now nearly as red as her hair. She snapped her fingers, and suddenly both her sons were encased within shining red orbs of swirling mists. Neither was audible from the other side.

  Proto blinked twice, then faced the Queen of Heaven.

  “Ahem.” She smiled sweetly at Proto. “As I was saying. You get to be the best cane-swordsman since World War I. You’ll go from Proto to Hero in ten years flat. And then you’ll have your happy ending. Are we all happy?”

  He eyed her for a moment.

  Then, he pinched himself hard. Wake up.

  He didn’t. Indeed, the pain felt remote, like the pain of another self he was only tenuously attached to. Pleasure, touch, and taste all felt normal. But pain? Distant.

  Frowning, Proto pinched harder.

  “Proto,” said Flua-Sahng sweetly, “I know my son made you a drunkard, but who made you a masochist?”

  “Do you really want to know the answer?!” he asked.

  “I think he’s looking for the exit, Mother,” called Somnus. Somehow, he’d left the red orb and misted into being near the cane-sword rack. He was lifting one and testing its balance now. “Trying to pinch himself awake, in other words.”

  “Mm. You could just ask me where the exit is, Proto,” she pointed out. “But yes, men would rather inflict violence on themselves than ask for directions, wouldn’t they?”

  “Where’s the exit, O Most Radiant and Majestic Queen of Heaven?” he sighed.

  “Mm, I like that,” she mused. “But do I really have to tell you where the exit is? You were staring dumbly at it for at least five minutes.”

  Proto frowned, then turned toward the bleary blue glow that he’d been facing earlier.

  It wasn’t bleary anymore. Now, he saw it was about ten feet tall and teardrop-shaped. It looked like a stone doorway with shimmery waters inside it.

  Some might harbor reservations about suffocating if they stepped inside. But, as an avid video gamer, Proto mostly was excited at the possibility that portals were real.

  “Yes, portals are real! But I’m afraid this isn’t one of them. Not the kind that lets you blink from, say, Iceland to Japan,” replied the Queen of Heaven. “No, you’ll have to leave blinking to others in the future. Your life isn’t high fantasy; just mildly fantastical. This isn’t a world of magical wonder; just an alternate world that sometimes makes you wonder.”

  “I swear, you’re like a Jeff Beck song,” grumbled Proto. “You spend most of your time riffing on yourself.”

  “Why, that’s the first time I’ve been compared to a guitar solo,” she mused. “I rather like it!”

  “I think we’ve drifted away from my question,” noted Proto. “Which is, how do I get back to my bedroom?”

  “I’ll tell you how!” she replied. “First, stop pinching yourself. Second, approach yon shimmering portal. Third, step into it.” She smiled at him, then pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Hm, shall I write it down?”

  Proto’s lips quirked up. “You keep a portal to my bedroom in your palace?”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Pah! Wouldn’t you like to think so!” she scoffed. “No, this is much more fun. Most sleeping mortals who step through that portal will simply wake up or return to sleep. But you, Proto, will sleepwalk. And you’ll do so lucidly.”

  “In other words, she keeps a portal to every bedroom,” called Somnus, who now was landing blows on the practice dummy. “Mother of All, indeed!”

  Meanwhile, Proto had started toward the portal but now paused at a sudden thought. “Wait, won’t I be missing work? Didn’t Perkunos say it was morning already?”

  “Work, Proto? Why in the world would you be working in the morning?” inquired Flua-Sahng. “It’s the Summer you turned nineteen! You have much better things to do! Like sleeping.”

  “Which, to be fair, isn’t quite as good as what you did yesterday morning,” she noted. “But now, you and Karen are broken up, and reenacting a certain scene in Auntie Ronda’s basement for the thirty-eighth time in ten days is no longer an option.”

  “Sheesh!” cried Proto.

  “Thirty-eighth. Ah, I miss being nineteen aeons,” mused Perkunos. As they were speaking, he’d sliced his way through the red orb imprisoning him with a fiery white slash of his longsword.

  “What’s the matter, Sleepwalker? You have a world-weary look on your face,” observed Flua-Sahng.

  “I’m sure I do!” affirmed Proto. “Instead of sleeping, I’m swordfighting and sleepwalking!”

  “Oh, the sleep still works, don’t you worry,” the Mother of All reassured him. “But the brokenhearted often feel tired, don’t they? I’d be brokenhearted too, if I’d just given up the sorts of mornings you were having—”

  “That’s not helpful!” exclaimed Proto.

  “Mm, not for you, I suppose,” she agreed. “But it’s quite helpful for me. As a result of your new tendency to sleep in late while basking in life’s sorrows, I can have you sleepwalk while normal people are awake! You can practice swordfighting and have some time left over for doing my bidding, Sleepwalker!”

  As they spoke, Somnus was landing blows on the practice dummy, as Perkunos watched. He executed a deft crosscut-to-stab routine. “Ha!” he vaunted over the impaled inanimate object.

  The Mother of All arched a brow. “As I said, Somnus, getting excited about minor success is the way of mediocrity.”

  “Stop stealing that line from Astrid!” scolded the Lord of Dreams, continuing to slash the dummy. “She’s been using that since the Persians celebrated their success at Thermopylae.”

  “Oh, she’d approve,” waved Flua-Sahng. “Believe me, I’ve foreseen it.”

  “So, you’re saying I’ll be sleepwalking while everyone else is awake?” asked Proto, struggling to stay focused when no one else seemed inclined to do so. “And I’ll just be . . . what, zombie-walking around, while everyone else is staring at me?”

  “No, Proto, you won’t be zombie-walking,” Flua-Sahng answered patiently. “I mean, not unless you’d like to. Feel free to!”

  “But I’ll be asleep. How . . . ?” He trailed off.

  “I already told you this, Sleepwalker!” she noted sweetly. “Here, let me remind you. Show, don’t tell, I always say.”

  She waved a hand, and Proto suddenly found himself immersed in a memory of barren wastes fraught with stars overhead.

  Standing before him on that reddish plain was Flua-Sahng. She was gesturing and talking to him. Her speech was mirky and indistinct at first, but soon clarified to distinct words:

  “What makes you remarkable is that you’re having this conversation,” she was saying, “even as a disembodied Spirit wandering on the boundaries of the Mists. You should be lost in dream right now. Instead, you’re conscious. . . . Somewhat. Arguably. ‘Which one? I only saw the hair.’ Hmph!”

  “And the reason I’m conscious, unlike the others I’ve seen here, is—” began Proto eagerly, as an insight started forming.

  “Yes, precisely!” interrupted Flua-Sahng, beaming. “Because of how you sleepwalk! It’s really quite unique.”

  The memory swirled away in mists, and Proto found himself back in the grand dueling chamber of Flua-Sahng’s Palace.

  “Do you get it now?” she pressed eagerly. “Part of you can be conscious while sleepwalking! That’s what makes you special!”

  “Hmph, listen to me gratuitously reaffirming your specialness,” she mused. “It’s like a 90s T.V. show! Except this time, we’re not all special snowflakes; only Proto’s a special snowflake.”

  “We’ve known the ‘flake’ part for a while, but we added the ‘snow’ based on your exceptional coldness toward Karen yesterday,” observed Somnus.

  “Sheesh!” cried Proto.

  “I’m sorry. We’re all being mean to my favorite child.” The Mother of All hugged him, her red hair falling all about his shoulders. “Well, favorite male child. I’m sure there’s some principle or another that explains my behavior.”

  “Magnetism,” shrugged Proto. “One minute, mockery; the next, hugs and favorite child.”

  “She does have favorites!” exclaimed Somnus to Perkunos. “We always knew. It just wasn’t us.”

  “So, let me see if I understand correctly,” said Proto as she withdrew. “You’re telling me that from age nineteen onward, I lead two different lives? One where I’m a statistics major in marketing, and another where I’m the best cane-swordsman since the death of Archduke Ferdinand?”

  “Yes, it’s rather Clark Kent, isn’t it?” affirmed Flua-Sahng. “There, we have a boring journalist who becomes an all-powerful superhero and romances his coworker. Here, we have a boring statistics major who—well, sometimes succeeds, at least as an object of laughter for those around him. And somehow he romances half of them in the process.”

  “No need for flattery,” remarked Proto.

  “Oh, but you’ve earned it, Favorite Child!” she countered cheerfully. “The other difference is, Mister Kent had to hide his second life from the world. You, Proto, have to hide your second life from yourself.”

  “That’s the one big rule here—Wakey-Wake Proto absolutely cannot find out about Sleepwalker Proto,” she instructed. “Should he find out, things will go awry, immediately and very seriously! Not just in some ‘world ending in a few hundred years way.’ Like, we’d be lucky to make it till Fyrir & Co. stirred up the Elements and burnt the world!”

  “No pressure, huh?” frowned Proto. “Just save Time while sleepwalking, while hiding from myself that I’m doing so. For eight years.”

  “Well, to clarify, Wakey-Wake Proto knows he sleepwalks. That’s not a problem,” she noted. “He just can’t find out about all this.” She waved at the majestic dreamworld all around them. “He can’t begin to suspect that his sleepwalking is part of some big plan, or what have you.”

  “Some big conspiracy?” offered Proto.

  “So big!” observed the Lord of Dreams, landing a blow on the practice dummy, as Perkunos winced at his brother’s form.

  “Quite.” Flua-Sahng rolled her eyes. “So, you should feel free to go out as Sleepwalker Proto. But I’d suggest avoiding conversations, especially with those you know. If your friends start recounting conversations with Sleepwalker Proto to Wakey-Wake Proto, things tend to go south quickly. I’ve foreseen it, believe you me!”

  “More broadly, try not to do anything too prominent and noticeable, except when you have to. Which, alas, you often will.” She winced a smile out. “In that situation, I’d suggest covering your face.”

  “ . . . wait, what?” said Proto.

  “I know, it’s a nice face!” She waved helplessly. “It’s our sacrifice as much as yours, Proto.”

  Proto shook his head. “Avoid being ‘prominent and noticeable,’ but I’ll ‘often’ have to be? What exactly will I be doing? I thought the whole point of this was to act secretly behind the scenes!”

  Flua-Sahng sighed and rolled her eyes. “I can’t tell you that now, and you know it! I’m not going to explain the Queen of Heaven’s Uncertainty Principle again. Just cover your face and keep quiet. Pretend you’re a ninja, or a Victorian widow, or a rider on a crowded train in 2020 where everyone is coughing. Whatever tickles your fancy! And covers your face.”

  “So, wear a mask,” said Proto. “Anything else?”

  “Not really,” shrugged the Queen of Heaven. “Keep your cane-sword close, of course. But I don’t need to tell you that.”

  “Sounds good,” nodded Proto. “But I think you left out the part where I get a cane-sword and a cane-sword permit.”

  “Well, number one is easy,” she replied. “Go to the abandoned house at 1860 South University, walk in the unlocked back door, and take the lovely cane-sword on display above the desk in the den. The back door’s unlocked, just turn it hard.”

  She beamed as he stared at her. “Isn’t this nice? I can just tell you these things when you’re Sleepwalker-Proto, rather than Seer-Proto or Visitor-Proto. It’s refreshing! How do you like that, Clotho? Lachesis? Atropos?” she cried toward the skylight. “We’re not subject to your rules anymore!”

  “Why does everyone get called by their cool Greek names except me?” muttered Somnus.

  Proto, meanwhile, was struggling to wrap his mind around all this. “So . . . I rob a cane-sword from a house.”

  The Queen of Heaven tsked. “Must you really word it that way, Proto? Rob? At worst, this is burglary, not robbery. A much less serious felony. You’ll take the cane-sword off the wall, not off some fellow’s waist.”

  “What, that doesn’t make you feel better?” she continued, seeing the look on his face. “Think of it this way—I made the cane-sword, so I can give it away, yes? Consider it a present! A present to celebrate you finally finishing your visions of the future and arriving at the present. Proto’s present.”

  “Okay,” nodded Proto, pondering the many virtues of being a boring statistics major without a secret second life. “So, I break into the abandoned house and burgle my present. And . . . the cane-sword permit?”

  “As for permits”—Flua-Sahng shrugged—“as I said, wear a mask!” She beamed. “Anything else?

  Proto wondered just how guaranteed it was that he’d reach that happy ending in ten years. Maybe he’d unlock some new Possibilities in prison. “Yeah, one more question.”

  “Try me! I know almost everything.” Her eyes and smile sparkled.

  “ . . . is this all just a dream?” he asked.

  “Oh, Proto. Haven’t you realized this by now? It may be a dream, but it’s never just a dream,” answered the Lord of Dreams, transitioning from a backstep to a long sword thrust, impaling the practice dummy for at least the thirty-eighth time.

  “My son, for once, makes a good point,” observed Flua-Sahng. “His point about dreams, mind you, not his swordpoint. Best leave the latter to Perkunos.”

  “Yes, well, I’m glad my mother thinks the Lord of Dreams is good on dreams!” replied Somnus.

  “Even the bleakest day has a sunrise,” she mused. “Even the bleakest mother praises her son.”

  “Even better than Morpheus, I daresay!” Somnus continued undaunted.

  “And yet he’s the one up for Academy Awards for Best Supporting Actor, while you lounge about boozing in minor paperback fiction,” she observed grimly.

  “Purely because you gave him a cooler name!” retorted Somnus. “Morpheus sounds like an exciting shapeshifter. I sound like sleepiness and boredom.”

  “You could go back to Hypnos and sound like an exciting creep,” she suggested.

  The Lord of Dreams rolled his eyes, as she tittered. “Hmph. How many Flua-Sahngs have won Academy Awards, hmm? How many Flua-Sahngs are in the Iliad?”

  “I just realized something,” Proto interjected.

  “You’re shabby, you’re indecisive, and you ended the best thing going on in your life yesterday?” Flua-Sahng cheerfully replied.

  “That,” said Proto, “and also, Somnus, you already knew me when I met you. In the future, I mean.”

  “You see? I told you he’s quick!” she said to Somnus, who inclined a brow.

  “Unlike my mother, Proto,” said the Lord of Dreams, “I don’t see future years in crystal-clear UHD resolution. So I’ll have to take your word for that. But that would seem to make sense, since I’m talking with you now, yes?”

  “I guess that’s why your eyes were always doing this thing”—Proto’s gaze widened and gleamed with zeal—“whenever you talked about my past, right?”

  “He gets that from me! It’s our family’s ‘I-know-something-you-don’t-know’ look!” beamed Flua-Sahng. “But he does it more. And I love him for it.”

  “First I’m good on dreams, now secretive looks?” observed Somnus to Perkunos. “Maybe she does like me!”

  The Mother of All shrugged. “Even the lowest sun lights Heaven a little. Even the lowliest son delights the Queen of Heaven a little.”

  Somnus nodded grimly. “And . . . she’s back.”

  “First you steal Astrid’s line, now you steal my line to Astrid?” Proto frowned, eying Flua-Sahng and Somnus.

  “First it’s robbing, now it’s stealing!” chastised Flua-Sahng. “Why don’t you give me a present for once? You and Mercune exchanged at least fifteen. Why don’t you pick petals off a flower and put them in my hair, while smiling and speaking mysterious phrases in Gaelic, or Japanese, or what-have-you, as I pretend not to understand?”

  “I think it’s well established by now that I don’t speak Japanese, unlike half my friends,” replied Proto.

  “It’s all Greek to me,” remarked Perkunos. “So, you guys planning to talk till Pro Bro has to wake up?”

  “‘Guys’ may not be the right word,” noted Somnus. “This only seems to happen when Mother’s around.”

  “It takes two!” she protested. “I just count as one-and-a-half. Anyhow, Proto, they’re right. You should be off.”

  “So . . . I’ll wake up in my room,” said Proto slowly. “What next? Any specific agenda?”

  “Well, look, I already told you to keep your cane-sword close, and I told you where to get one. Is that not enough?” asked Flua-Sahng.

  Proto rolled his eyes. “Now it is, I guess.”

  Flua-Sahng rolled her eyes right back. “Really now, you’re a nineteen-year-old male on a quest to save Time! Do I need to tell you that getting a sword is priority #1?”

  “According to Red, priority #1 is #1,” he pointed out.

  “Oh, don’t you even think about Starbucks Barista Girl, until you start drinking coffee in college, randomly behold her, and go dumbstruck with bedazzlement,” she chided. “Nothing good will come of starting early, I promise you that!”

  Somnus rolled his eyes like his mother. “First’s name, you’ve been saying that to everyone for aeons! And has anyone ever listened to you?”

  “Indeed!” she retorted. “Indeed, ask Somnus about starting early. Ask him about Lady Luck and things starting early. And stopping early! How were the goodies, Son?”

  “You guys are doing it again,” noted Perkunos, who was back to practicing his dual-wielding. “Comboing on each other’s banter.”

  “Alright, I’m off.” Proto faced the portal.

  “Beating a retreat?” asked the Queen of Heaven. “Alright. I’d say good luck, Proto. But you have a better ally than Lady Luck on your side.” She flushed with rose-gold radiance, twirling her sunset-colored hair modestly about her finger.

  “Isn’t she jealous?” mused Somnus. “She used to ask me what I liked more, ‘hair as red as sunset or as blue as suffocation.’”

  Flua-Sahng’s lips quirked up, then her eyes lit up. “Ah, I almost forgot!” She snapped her fingers. Awakening the Wind began playing, fluting and drumming and trumpeting from somewhere indiscernible. “Let’s start this on the right note, shall we?”

  “Much better,” called Proto over his shoulder. He was just a few feet from the portal now.

  “Knock ‘em dead, Pro Bro!” called the Battle-Lord of Lightning.

  “But not too dead, unless you want that felony after all!” added Flua-Sahng.

  Proto stepped into the portal’s rippling waters.

  “Remember, get back in bed before the Mists rise too high!” called Somnus.

  “Wait, what?!” exclaimed Proto, trying to halt and whirl around. “What’s this about—?”

  But his voice cut off there. For, even now, he was hurtling into a grey obscurity dotted with far off flares, whirling in parallax as he tumbled headlong, bound for a place and time he knew, and bound to experience there a life he’d led and never known.