The sun nestled below the horizon, low enough for stars to twinkle, yet high enough to radiate a faint, lingering glow. At this hour, every day without fail, Clucky the rooster decided it was time to rouse the farm.
Cedar groaned, throwing her arm over her eyes. “You stupid rooster. You so stupid.”
Becoming a superhero doesn’t happen overnight. It’s not like the comics or movies. Real superheroes must obey the laws of physics, conditioning their minds on a subatomic level to alter physical matter. The secret to becoming a superhero isn’t a spider bite or a dunk in radioactive chemicals—it’s about unearthing the void.
At that moment, Cedar wanted nothing more than to hurl Clucky into that void.
Her brain felt sore, swollen. Ari had assured her this was a good sign, proof that her training was finally reshaping her involuntary synapses and boosting neurotransmitter production. Dry mouth was another charming side effect. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, searching for moisture and grimly aware that dehydration could lead to gum recession.
Her thoughts drifted to the day before—a proud, righteous day. It was the day she’d slain over a dozen zombies in pitch darkness. Ari had called it a “level one dungeon,” which ominously suggested the existence of a level two.
Sitting up in bed, Cedar grabbed her head and smooshed her face with her hands. “You so stupid, rooster,” she muttered. Defeated, she threw off her blanket. Clucky had won this round.
Her long, thin feet slapped against the wooden floor as she rose and dressed in her formal black Tai Chi-fu, a traditional Kung Fu uniform. She opened the cabin door, bracing herself for the menacing new day. How many dungeons do I need to clear to escape this eternal abyss?
Outside Ari’s cabin stood Alma, the NPC chef, holding a menu. Dressed in a green apron and crowned with a tall casque à mèche, Alma was Cedar’s reward for completing the level one dungeon. Cedar was grateful—she no longer had to rely on Ari for breakfast. Unlike her, Ari could blissfully sleep through Clucky’s relentless crowing.
“Bonjour, Madame. Would you like some petit déjeuner?” Alma asked, her towering frame a foot taller than Cedar’s. Her pleasant face peered down, awaiting commands.
“Don’t you get bored standing out here all day?” Cedar asked, scanning the menu.
“It pleases me to serve, Madame,” Alma replied serenely.
“What’s your story, anyway? Where were you before this?”
“I graduated with high honors from Le Cordon Bleu and served Her Royal Highness, Queen Lilibet the Third, for many years. Culinary genius has run in my family for eight generations,” Alma answered with a smile.
Cedar nodded slowly. “And now you’re here, standing outside Ari’s cabin all day, inside a memory that’s inside my memory. Makes perfect sense. I’ll have the smoked salmon and cream cheese dill crêpe, por favor.”
“Un moment, Madame. Please, sit, and I will bring it to you. S’il vous plaît, sit.”
Cedar settled at a picnic table overlooking the tranquil lake, her eyes tracing the serene view while she waited for her meal. Her brain felt like it was outgrowing her skull, straining against its confines, and her mouth was as dry as chalk.
“Good morning!” Ari greeted her, chipper as always. He slid onto the bench across from her, balancing a plate of breakfast and his morning milkshake. “And how are we feeling today?”
“Horrible. Why do I feel like I’m hungover?” Cedar grumbled, massaging her temples.
“That’s probably withdrawal. It’ll pass . . . hopefully.”
“Withdrawal from what?”
“As I mentioned yesterday, your brain is undergoing changes,” Ari said, taking a sip of his milkshake. “Your body isn’t producing all those fun hormones like it used to. Once the transformation is complete, they’ll come back. Don’t worry about it.”
Cedar eyed his plate suspiciously. “What the hell are you eating?”
“This?” Ari lifted a round, ivory-colored puff on the end of his fork.
“Yes, that.”
Before Ari could answer, Alma appeared beside Cedar, placing a silver platter in front of her with a flourish. She lifted the lid, revealing a stunning stuffed crêpe. “Bon appétit, Madame,” she said with a warm smile.
“Bon appé-tities to me,” Cedar quipped, grinning as her mouth finally began producing saliva. “Can I get a milkshake too? Oh, and some water, por favor?”
“Oui, Madame. Un moment, s’il vous plaît.” Alma gave a slight bow before heading off.
Cedar turned back to Ari, her curiosity undeterred. “So? What is that thing?”
Ari glanced at the peculiar puff skewered on his fork. “This little guy? It’s Hericium erinaceus, also known as lion’s mane. It’s a mushroom. Here, try it.”
Cedar scrunched her face in disgust. “I hate mushrooms. Fungus ain’t welcome in my pie hole.”
Unbothered, Ari deposited the bite of mushroom onto Cedar’s plate. “If you want to feel better, I suggest you eat it.”
She nudged it with her fork. “What’s it supposed to do?”
“It promotes the synthesis of nerve growth factor—the stuff that heals your brain. It does a bunch of other good things too. Just eat it,” Ari said, his tone nonchalant.
With a grimace, Cedar popped the mushroom into her mouth, chewing noisily. “So, what’s on the agenda today? Anything interesting?”
“How about the level two dungeon?” Ari suggested. “Now that you’ve got the gist of it, I think you’d do just fine.”
Cedar swallowed the mushroom, her expression sour. “How many of these dungeons do I have to clear before I can go home?”
“What’s the rush?” Ari asked, raising an eyebrow.
“How many?” Cedar pressed.
“Nine should do it,” he said, squinting into the distance as he ate.
“Nine dungeons? Why nine?”
“You can’t level up in here, so there’s no way you’d survive a level ten dungeon as a level one player. Nine is already pushing it.”
Cedar frowned, her mind spinning. “This isn’t a game,” she objected. “How am I a ‘player’?”
Ari cringed. “Poor choice of words on my part. You’re not a ‘player,’” he said quickly. “Look, there’s a lot about the universe you don’t understand yet, and you don’t need to understand it all right now. Just know this: yes, there are levels, and you’ll be able to level up once you acquire my interface.”
“What’s an interface?”
“My . . . well, it’s literally an interface,” Ari explained, gesturing vaguely. “Think of it like a computer built into your brain. You’ll gain access to all kinds of abilities. You’ll see once you have it.”
“Why can’t you just tell me now?”
Ari paused, taking another bite of his food. His gaze wandered to the trees, as if lost in thought. “I’m very old, Cedar.”
“Yeah, I know. You’ve told me.”
“I’m level 10,058. Do you know how many lifetimes that’s taken?”
“No idea.” A thrill of excitement surged in Cedar’s chest. Just how powerful is this guy?
“Once a person ascends, they spend the rest of their existence accumulating energy. That’s what it’s all about—energy.” Ari’s eyes met hers. “Did you know the universe was born with zero energy? It’s all borrowed. We’re all living in debt. Bet you didn’t know that, huh? That our energy isn’t even ours?”
“Of course I didn’t know that,” Cedar snapped. “How could I?” Her excitement soured into unease. “Where are you going with this?”
“The whole is greater than the sum of its parts,” Ari said, nodding at Cedar as if she understood.
“Yeah? And?” Cedar prompted, narrowing her eyes.
Ari stabbed into his breakfast ravioli, twirling a tight bundle onto the end of his fork. “All those questions you have now? About God, or some grand purpose to it all? You’ll still have those questions long after you’re dead. Sure, you’ll learn some things, but there’s always more questions, more to unfold.” He shoved the forkful into his mouth, speaking through bites of food, crumbs punctuating his words. “It never ends.”
“Ari . . .” Cedar’s voice was tinged with unease. “Is there something I should know? Do we have to, like, pay back this energy or something?”
Ari didn’t respond right away. He continued stabbing his ravioli with mechanical precision, his gaze distant. “We have conspiracy theories in the afterlife too,” he said finally, as if answering a different question. “Just like you do here. Nothing’s certain. But one thing I’ve learned is this: everything in the physical universe is created by and dependent on something beyond itself. Everything is placed strategically, like pieces on a board. From our vantage point in the spirit realm, the patterns and purposes in your world are as clear as day. But in our realm? It’s a different story. We can’t see how things fit together. We don’t know why we exist—just like you don’t fully understand your purpose. We can observe your world and figure out your purpose, but the purpose of the spirit realm remains elusive.”
Cedar frowned. She’d never heard Ari go off on such a tangent before, and it unnerved her. Yet, she couldn’t help but find the subject fascinating. “What’s our purpose in the physical realm?” she asked.
“To evolve and ascend,” Ari answered matter-of-factly. “It’s easy to see from my perspective. Some people don’t even need to ascend to understand it.”
“But couldn’t the spirit realm just be another stage of evolution?” Cedar countered. “A stepping stone to something even beyond that? Maybe there’s another tier, another gateway after the spirit realm.”
Ari paused, considering her words. “Well . . . there’s a door,” he admitted. “A door that only a soul at level 1,022,435 can open. It’s an absurdly high number—impossible, really, if you ask me. But the door exists. No one knows who put it there, or where it leads.”
“Then that’s it,” Cedar declared. “That’s your purpose—to open that door.”
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
“No.” Ari shook his head firmly. “It’s an impossible level. And the door’s location is a mystery. No one has seen it, let alone entered—not in any universe I’ve visited.”
“Then how do you even know it exists?”
A shadow of melancholy crossed Ari’s face before he smoothed it away. “Let’s forget about the door for now,” he said quietly. “Most people think it’s just folklore anyway.”
Cedar could sense he wanted to avoid the topic, perhaps for reasons he wasn’t ready to share. She decided to let it go. “Okay,” she said, shifting the conversation. “So, tell me more about this interface.”
“It’s like you’re the lead character in a role-playing game,” Ari explained. “You’ll have an edge over everyone else because I’m transferring everything I have to you—all my spells, abilities, everything. Your experience gain rate will multiply by my level—10,058—which means you’ll reach level two 10,058 times faster than someone starting from scratch. But once you reach level 10,058, your multiplier ends. By then, you’ll have caught up. After that, you can still level up, but it takes a very, very long time.”
“Why are you giving me your stuff?” Cedar asked, suspicion creeping into her voice.
“Because you’ll need it.”
“But don’t you need it, too?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ari replied with a dismissive wave, taking a swig of his milkshake. A frothy white smear clung to his upper lip as he set the glass down.
Cedar scooped the last forkful of crêpe into her mouth, pondering yet another intriguing, unanswered question. Now there were two gaping holes in Ari’s story. Since these mysteries were new to her, she decided to let them rest—for now.
Breaking the awkward silence, she ventured, “I forgot to ask—why didn’t you tell me I needed to get angry to kill the zombies?”
“I didn’t tell you because you didn’t actually need to get angry,” Ari replied.
Cedar shrugged. “Well, it worked.”
“Do you remember what I said about gravity and how it can pull you in?”
“Yeah.”
“You just needed to rise above that pull,” Ari explained. “In your case, anger served as a catalyst. But relying on it is risky. Anger might give you a sense of power, but it clouds judgment. It makes you deaf to reason and stubborn beyond belief. Hasn’t Bryce taught you anything about this?”
“He teaches non-resistance,” Cedar admitted. “He says if I’m angry, I should express it and let it flow. He believes that by accepting my emotions, I can learn from them.”
“That’s fine,” Ari said with a nod. “Just don’t lean on anger—it’s like walking a tightrope. One wrong move, and it’ll throw you off balance.”
As they spoke, Cedar’s attention drifted over Ari’s shoulder to a small, glinting object. A soft whirring sound reached Ari’s ear, and without looking, he flicked his hand up, catching a six-pronged Chinese throwing star between his fingers.
“What the . . . ?” he muttered, examining the weapon.
From behind a nearby tree, Bryce Li stepped into view, his presence commanding. “It’s time,” he announced.
Cedar stood, unable to resist a playful jab. “I totally could’ve caught that.”
“Yeah. In your eye,” Ari retorted dryly.
Cedar laughed as she walked away. “I’ll tackle the level two dungeon later,” she called over her shoulder.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Ari replied.
----------------------------------------
The sun climbed higher, signaling early afternoon. Cedar was struggling with her forms. Her punches and kicks lacked the sharpness and precision they needed. The crisp snap that should have accompanied each strike was absent.
“You’re too loose!” Bryce critiqued. “You need snap on contact.”
He demonstrated the correct form with practiced ease, his movements unburdened by tension. Bouncing lightly on his toes, his arms relaxed and his elbows low, he struck with lightning speed. His uniform snapped audibly at the wrist as he delivered a precise blow to Cedar’s solar plexus, sending her sprawling several yards back onto the ground.
Meditation didn’t go well either. Cedar’s thoughts were incessantly drawn back to the upcoming dungeon and her earlier conversation with Ari. The mysterious, inaccessible door and Ari’s interface—which he seemed to have no use for anymore—lingered in her mind. And what was with his tangent about accumulating energy? And what exactly is energy anyway? The famous equation, E=mc² crossed her mind.
When lunchtime arrived, Cedar ordered the Nepali Dal Bhat from Alma, hoping the simple yet nourishing dish would sharpen her focus without weighing her down.
“Dal Bhat—good choice,” Ari commented as he joined her at the picnic table. Two precariously stacked hot dogs wobbled on his plate as he sat down.
Cedar didn’t waste time. “I have a question,” she began. “Earlier, you said everything revolves around gaining energy. But isn’t energy mass times the speed of light squared? So if I gain more energy, won’t I weigh more?”
“Not necessarily,” Ari replied, unbothered by the question. “Mass comes from chromodynamic binding energy, which isn’t the same as weight. So no, gaining energy doesn’t mean you’ll weigh more.”
“But E=mc²—”
“The equation depends on context,” Ari interrupted. “For a massless particle, for instance, it simplifies to E=pc, where p represents momentum and c is the speed of light. You get me?”
“Umm . . . yes?” Cedar lied. “But what if the particle has no momentum? What then?”
“It wouldn’t exist,” Ari said simply. “Not only would it not exist, but it has to travel at the speed of light to stay in the physical plane. The moment it slows down, it vanishes.”
“Interesting . . . but how? Why?”
“That’s just how it works for massless particles,” Ari replied with a shrug.
“Can you tell me why it has to travel at light speed?” Cedar pressed.
“Dang, girl, you and your questions,” Ari teased, though he smiled. “Don’t get me wrong, I love answering them. Some are just harder to explain than others.”
“Yes, so . . . ?” Cedar leaned forward expectantly.
“So, time freezes at the speed of light,” Ari explained. “That means the particle moves with time itself. If it slowed down, we’d be able to measure it within our frame of reference. And if we could do that, then it wouldn’t be a massless particle anymore. It’s a paradox. I know it’s confusing, but that’s the simplest way I can explain it.”
“I think I get it,” Cedar said thoughtfully. “So, the energy you spoke of earlier—the one we’re supposed to accumulate—what kind of energy is it? If it doesn’t weigh us down, does it have to travel at light speed?”
“Not exactly,” Ari corrected. “We gain energy through experience—often through suffering. Once we refine this energy with our consciousness and release it, it transforms into negative energy. We’re quantumly entangled with that negative energy, so we can call upon it anytime. We can even create new universes with it. And no, it doesn’t travel at light speed. It has no dimensions, so time doesn’t factor in. It exists in the void, outside the physical dimension.”
“Wait, wait.” Cedar held up a hand. “You’re saying we can create universes? Can anyone do that?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” Ari said casually. “But when the Big Rip happens, you don’t really have a choice—you either jump in or get sucked in.”
“Sucked into what? What’s the Big Rip? You’re talking too fast. Does ‘Big Rip’ stand for ‘Big Rest-in-Peace’ or something?”
“It should,” Ari chuckled. “But no, the Big Rip refers to the heat death of a universe. Over time, as more universes are created, they stack on top of each other, accelerating inflation.”
“Inflation?” Cedar echoed, confused.
“Yeah, galaxies and solar systems keep spreading out until space takes over matter. Everything gets stretched thin—flattened, really. The weight of all those new universes crush the old ones, squishing them back into the singularity. But from our three-dimensional perspective, it just looks like the universe is expanding.”
“How do we get sucked into a new universe? I’m so confused. Maybe start from the beginning?”
Ari paused, considering how best to explain. “Time needs space and space needs time—they’re opposing sides of the same coin. When the Big Rip happens, all baryonic particles—everything you know as matter—get torn apart, reduced to smaller and smaller components until nothing remains but radiation. The end result will be the annihilation of all matter—the great flattening of our universe into a sub-atomic dimension.’
‘Time gets lost, space gets lost. Without mass, there’s nothing to hold three-dimensional spacetime together. The whole thing collapses in on itself to form another Big Bang.”
Cedar’s brow furrowed as she absorbed the explanation. “What about the spirit realm? Does it get crushed too?”
“It sure does. The spirit realm and the physical realm rely on each other to exist. Without time, there’s no self-awareness. Without space, there’s no medium for time to function. The spirit world is as reliant on these elements as the physical world.’
‘We’re naturally inclined—almost pre-programmed—to merge with the singularity when the time comes,” Ari explained. “It’s not something we worry about. And if someone’s not ready, they can always hop over to the next universe without getting pulled into the singularity.”
Cedar frowned. “Pre-programmed? You’re scaring me with that word.”
Ari took a bite of his hot dog, chewing thoughtfully. “I don’t think we should talk about this anymore. I want you to focus on completing the dungeons first.”
Cedar wasn’t having it. “How do we create a new universe? You’re not great at . . . teaching. Maybe if you explain that, I’ll start to understand all of this.”
Ari sighed. “You’re not going to drop this, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Fine,” he relented, staring into the distance as if searching for the right words. “It’s not easy, I’ll tell you that. Ending yourself—really ending yourself—is never a
n easy decision. You know the universe originated from a white hole, right?”
Cedar nodded.
“That white hole is still there,” Ari continued. “But it’s converted itself into a black hole, with the original singularity at its center. If we were to jump into that black hole, it takes us to the void. You remember the void from the flower ceremony?”
“Of course,” Cedar said, her stomach tightening.
“Here’s where it gets crazy. That void? It doesn’t actually exist anywhere.”
“What do you mean?” Cedar asked, leaning forward.
“It’s not located in any dimension of space we know. The only way to physically ‘reach’ it is by entering that specific black hole at the universe’s center. But you’re not really going anywhere. The void isn’t a place. It’s in you. You are the void. That’s why you can access it through meditation.”
Cedar stared at him, trying to grasp the concept.
“The origin of the Big Bang was never a place, but a moment in time.” Ari further explained. “When someone jumps into the black hole,” Ari went on, “they essentially destroy their soul. They’re ripped apart, shredded into oblivion. What’s left is the negative energy they carried in and a kind of blueprint for how to put themselves back together.”
“That sounds . . . horrifying,” Cedar whispered.
“It is. But that’s how a new universe is born,” Ari said. “The void uses that negative energy to create a parallel universe—an exact replica of the one before it. Since we all come from the same source, the same universe is replicated again and again. Everything unfolds as it did previously to recreate the person—or people—who initiated it. The void is just trying to make sense of the pieces it’s given.’
‘Another crazy thing is, it all happens simultaneous. To us, it feels like billions of eons, but to the void, it rips us apart and reassembles us in an instant. Right now, your universe is an illusion, sort of an unrequited hologram. None of this is real until everyone who’s supposed to be born has been born. And if they aren’t born . . .” He snorted, his mouth full of food. “Well, we’re all in big trouble.”
Cedar blinked. “None of this makes sense. How can we be an illusion?”
“Reality isn’t as solid as you think,” Ari said. “Nothing exists until it’s observed. Your universe is waiting to be realized by all its creators—all those who jumped into the singularity to create it. My universe still isn’t fully realized.”
“Seriously?” Cedar asked, astonished. “How long does it take for that to happen?”
“Billions upon billions . . . upon billions of millennia,” Ari replied with a shrug. “The more verses there are, the longer it takes for each one to become realized. It’s because of the increasing number of people. The more people, the longer it takes.”
“What happens once the universe is realized?” Cedar asked.
“It stops being deterministic, for starters,” Ari replied. “But most importantly, it becomes impervious to destruction by hijackers.”
Cedar bit her bottom lip, her mind buzzing with questions. She didn’t even know where to start. “What happens if the universe doesn’t become realized?”
“The black hole at the center will swallow everything up and start over,” Ari said, raising his eyebrows as if the answer were obvious. “It’ll be like none of this ever happened.”
“How did our villain even get here—if this is all just a fake illusion?”
“He back-doored it,” Ari said. “Think of him like malware—a computer virus. Same as me, really, if you think about it. There’s a place called the Fringe. It’s similar to the void, but accessible to everyone. The difference is that each person has their own unique void, but the Fringe is shared. It’s everywhere, holding space together like fascia. If you know how to navigate the Fringe, you can get anywhere.”
“Why do you call it the Fringe?”
“Because it’s the outermost layer of the singularity—or the black hole—whatever you prefer to call it.”
Cedar held up a hand. “Okay, back up. Anyone can create a universe?”
Ari rolled his eyes. “Don’t get too excited. It’s not what you think. It's a place people go to die. It’s like a graveyard for suicidal souls.” He paused, his expression softening. “But yeah, I suppose it’s also like giving birth to mankind.”
He scooped a bite of rice pudding and continued, “This entire universe was born from suffering—from people who wanted to end their existence or erase their past lives. Everyone has their reasons. They gave up everything to create this. All their power, even their perceptions, were destroyed when they merged. What I can’t wrap my head around is why anyone would want to give up everything when they could use their power to help others instead. There are already infinite universes out there—some of them in serious trouble. Why make more?”
“It’s like asking why people keep having kids when so many are waiting for adoption,” Cedar chimed in.
“Exactly,” Ari said, pointing his spoon at her.
“So, the people who created this universe,” Cedar mused, “are they like gods or something?”
“From a simple point of view, sure,” Ari said. “Or maybe they’re just cogs in the wheel—self-sustaining the cycles. There’s no need for a higher hand to turn the wheel if we’re capable of doing it ourselves.”
Cedar shook her head. “Nope, still don’t get it. It’s a lot to take in. Is there anything else I should know?”
Ari let out a loud, amused “Ha.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cedar asked, narrowing her eyes.
“There’s too much,” he said. “Way too much. I’ve barely scratched the surface.”
Cedar leaned in, lowering her voice in mock reverence. “Do tell me more, oh mighty Ari. How are we pre-programmed?”
“Story time’s over for today,” Ari said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “A level two dungeon awaits.”
His comment jogged Cedar’s memory. She’d meant to ask this earlier but had been sidetracked. “Just one more question,” she said, holding up a finger.
Ari sighed, already anticipating her persistence. “What is it?”
“Why is this all set up like an RPG? Am I a character in some kind of cosmic video game?”