Matt stood in a chamber of infinite white and wondered if he was dreaming. The transition had come without light, noise or warning – he had not blinked, he had not been blinded, he had simply turned his head and he was no longer anywhere he recognised. He was not in Morningstar. He was not in Sedgwick Kansas. Instead, he was somewhere white. Endless, unbroken white, that stretched as far as the eye could see without crease or curve or corner.

Matt glanced down at the floor and then up again, gripped by a sudden sense of vertigo, feeling with his feet, searching with his eyes. He was standing on something solid – some kind of stone maybe, and he thought inside, because high, maybe a hundred feet above him he could just make out the slightest change in angle which he thought might be the curvature of a roof. But the colour of the stone was so bright and pure, with light seemingly coming from everywhere with no visible source, that it was impossible to make out where the walls were, or where the room started or ended. He stood inside a cathedral. A cathedral of infinite white.

“Hey.” A soft, familiar voice spoke from behind him, and Matt spun around.

There, in the still, white glow, stood Jane.

She looked older somehow. Not physically older, not grey‑haired or more developed or showing any signs of greater aging – but in the way she held herself. The way she smiled, calm, almost motherly, the light soft upon her body, never changing. Her face, her limbs were free of any dirt or tarnish, and the uniform of Dawn was gone, replaced by a long, white sleeveless robe falling in gentle folds around her frame. Matt had not heard her arrive yet there she stood, barely three feet away from him, smiling, serene. Her hands were clasped, her bronze hair falling long and loose down behind her shoulders. Her eyes were human, showing no signs of change or colour. Yet the ‘E’ tattoo on her cheek was now white – changed from tattoo black to the colour of pure, unblemished porcelain.

“Jane…”

For a moment, Matt wondered if he’d fallen over, if he’d hit his head falling out of a pine tree or passed out back in the restroom of the Kansas bar, having dreamed the last hour and in reality pantsless and enjoying a big drooling snore. But as he considered his surroundings and the sight of Jane in front of him, Matt felt completely sober. Okay. Mat didn’t take a step back nor let himself panic, though his pulse did quicken a few paces – but the look on Jane’s face was so calm, so serene and self‑assured, that the sense of panic he’d been expecting to come rushing in never eventuated. He gawked over at her, then he gaped at the world around them.

“Where are we?” he asked her, his voice low, almost reverent, “How did we get…? What happened to you?”

“Come,” Jane said simply, and she took his hand with a warm, caring smile. Their fingers intertwined, her hand soft and warm. She led him gently on through the endless white hall, in the direction she had appeared from, though if she’d disappeared again Matt would’ve found it hard to keep track. His gaze wandered over Jane as they walked, taking in her long straight hair, the change in her demeanour, the light and happiness in her eyes, her utter calm. Somehow, though their footsteps tapped across unblemished stone, the sound did not echo throughout the infinite cathedral.

“Are you… older?” he asked. It hardly seemed like a rude question given the circumstances. Jane laughed, and to Matt’s unexpected relief it was not some divine, tinkling chime but her usual biting bark.

“I guess,” she answered. She squeezed his hand and the calm smile she held twisted into a bit more of a grin. “I have been… living a lot, lately. Condensed down. Not aging specifically. I don’t think that’s happening anymore.”

“Oh,” Matt replied. He was uncertain how to respond. “How much time…?”

Jane laughed again. “How many thoughts are there in a second? How much light streams in from the sun? At some point you miss the point by counting. What matters is the warmth, the sunshine, the love.” She squeezed his hand again. Matt didn’t know if the answer made him feel more or less reassured.

They continued walking.

“What is this place?” he asked eventually, as they continued down the endless white hall, “Is this inside that sphere?”

“Correct.”

“Everyone back on Earth is freaking out over that by the way.” He paused, momentarily reassessing with some discomfort the fact that he’d just had to say ‘back on Earth’.

Again, Jane only laughed. “I know. Let them panic. It’s not going to do anything. Might do them good to instil a little reverence and awe.”

There was a lot to unpack in that sentence. “They’re worried they’re in danger.”

Jane shrugged. “People have held false beliefs for millennia. Another few days won’t hurt.”

They ambled on, and Matt thought he saw a distant rectangle of light down the very, very far end of the hallway. “How did I get here?” he asked her, “Can you teleport now? How did you make this place?”

“Fredericks was right,” Jane told him, her voice calm, confident, without the slightest hint of fear or resentment, “I am a god. Or like a god. How do you draw the distinction? Anyway.” She brushed the question away with a wave of her hand. “These things I can do. These four pillars. They’re not just powerful on their own. They work in tandem. Like they were made for each other. Like missing pieces.”

She raised her right hand, the one not holding Matt’s, out towards the wall and ceiling, and to Matt’s amazement a trail of green plants and buds suddenly blossomed along the pure white. “Matter and energy are two sides of the same coin. I have unlimited energy, and so I can make limitless matter. Create, control everything at its most basic level. And then things I want to live can just live, I can give them the spark. So anything I want just sort of… exists.” She gently twisted her hand, and the green buds bloomed into a thousand flowers of every colour. “Time’s the key. I can go back and forth now, it’s easier to do it, not so much to rewrite things but to…” she contemplated her words, “…see where the lines are. See what’s going to work. The Child is enmeshed in time, deep beneath the surface, but I just sort of… skim.” She turned and smiled at him. “It’s all just practice. Attempts to get it right. Keep your mind calm and don’t let it consume you, and it can show you where to go. And I can undo.” She paused and lowered her hand and the line of flora ceased appearing. “Unlimited trial and error. If something doesn’t work I just roll it back and get better every time.”

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The opening from which light poured was moving closer.

“You’re re‑doing things?” Matt asked, “Over and over?”

“Foresight and hindsight,” Jane nodded, “After a while it’s just seeing. I think that’s what the Child was trying to tell me at some point. Existence isn’t so, you know, linear when you can just endlessly predict and re‑do.”

“And is it just creating things you’re doing over?” Matt asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer, “How many times have we had this conversation?” To his surprise Jane cocked her head back, and for the first time since he’d entered the white room her brow furrowed and she stared at him with something resembling hurt.

“I would never do that,” she told him, “I’m not… these powers aren’t to manipulate you or win an argument. I love you. I want this to be real with you.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious. I promise.”

“Okay. I believe you.” Matt tried to force a smile. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around this.”

“That may take a while,” Jane laughed, turning back to face where they were walking, her auburn hair flicking free, all trace of consternation forgotten, “There’s a lot to take in.”

And as she said it they reached the door, because Matt could see now that patch of endless white they’d been walking towards, and through which blinding light seemed to be streaming, was indeed a door – an enormous, hundreds of feet high rectangle, opening in the stone floor to wall to ceiling, a titanic gateway to the world beyond. Jane led Matt forward, and like ants across the floor of a temple they walked towards it, Matt gazing up in wonder at the impossible structure’s flawless seams and towering height. As they approached Matt felt the soft brush of wind on his face, heard the tinkle of distant running water and caught the smell of fresh rain, the scent of pollen and deep earth. Light streamed through the doorway and as Matt stepped through he had to use his free hand to shield his eyes. Then they stepped out onto the balcony, and slowly, Matt’s vision adjusted. His heart stopped.

“Welcome,” Jane smiled, “To my world.”

It was all Matt could do to keep breathing.

“What the fu…”

Paradise.

Actual, stereotypical paradise. Before him, from atop the white stone balcony on which they were standing, stretched an endless expanse of radiant nature, glistening blues and golds, earth tones and fields of green. Long grass hills undulated and rolled out into the horizon like waves across an ocean, forests stood hundreds of feet tall, streams flowed unbroken through lakes and cascaded into glistening waterfalls. There were flowers everywhere, fields of pinks and reds and yellows, mighty cliffs of rough‑hewn stone, and above it all the cosmic sky stretched eternal, glistening with stars, sweeping green and purple clouds of galactic dust and nebulas. And amongst it all – animals. So many moving animals: deer grazing in herds, flocks of bright parrots flapping and squawking, elephants, giraffes, peacocks strutting about, and on the far side of the hills a pack of sandy lions prowling around as if they owned the place. Yet these were just the beginning. Between them, between all these familiar, Earthly animals moved other creatures, impossible creatures, things that shouldn’t exist, that existed only in stories or in people’s imaginations. Flying feathered snakes with scales of every colour. An eagle‑faced, lion‑legged griffon gliding casually through the cloud‑wisped heavens. Matt saw a rabbit made of pure gold, some sort of white six-legged flying oxen, and a great copper dragon the size of a school bus lying curled up beside a shimmering pond, tiny grey and black plover birds picking between its scales and teeth.

“Are those freaking dinosaurs?” he asked, breathless, unable to help himself, leaning over the balcony and pointing, a child again enamoured, enraptured at the zoo. Jane laughed.

“Yep,” she said, “They took a few attempts. I think I’ve got them right. There’ll probably be a few modifications.”

“Holy…” Matt whispered. The words died beneath his lips. He gawked down across the vibrant, colour strewn paradise, the rolling hills of Eden brought impossibly to life. Far off over snowcapped mountains, a pterodactyl circled. Rainbow-scaled fish swam just beneath the surface of a river. Distinct orange tigers paced next to a family of mottled green Triceratops, the predators giving a wide birth to the three‑horned dinosaurs as they plodded through a sea of grass.

“Do you want to go see?” Jane smiled at him. Matt felt as if he was in a dream, and he turned to look at her, his hand holding onto the rail to prevent his collapse. Jane’s smile beamed, radiant.

“Do I want to go see dinosaurs?” Matt replied, knees and voice both weak. Jane nodded. “I… I don’t…” He swung his gaze back weakly around. “How do we get down?”

Again Jane laughed, and it was so refreshing, such a happy, vibrant sound that he couldn’t help but smile at her, couldn’t help being swept up.

“However we like,” she told him, and she waved her hands and suddenly his torn and muddy clothes were loose white linen, soft and unimaginably comfortable, and like her own flowing gently in the cool summer breeze. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. “But I thought we could try this.”

She bent her forward and pressed her lips against his forehead. Suddenly, Matt’s whole body grew hot and he felt like was glowing, like after years in the snowy wilderness he’d suddenly plunged into a blissful steaming bath. He gasped, and his eyes widening. A light surged through him, a lightness, a sudden singing in his veins. It was the most exhilarating feeling he’d ever experienced.

“Go,” Jane whispered, and she released his hand and floated gently up off the balcony. Matt watched her rise, his heart pounding, and he glanced over at the distant ground. It was a long, impossible drop. But suddenly, Matt wasn’t afraid of falling. He glanced upwards, at the white rippling folds of Jane’s cloak-

And flew.

“HO-LEE SHI-!”

Matt was flying. Slowly at first, unsteady, his legs kicking wildly out from under him, but an instant later his heart surged with confidence and he took off, rocketing like a shot, racing through the air, tumbling, hollering giddy with laughter, rolling in an ungainly tangle of hair and limbs then spinning, stretching out straight as an arrow, shooting up into the clouds, shouting with pure glee. He rose above the verdant world, sling‑shotting through the clouds and above the skyline, then plunged, falling, no diving forward, racing towards the ground at breakneck speed before pulling up, whooping with joy, flying back above the rolling emerald hills. He heard a bark of laughter and looked up to find Jane soaring above him, specks of gold trailing behind her, staring down at him with shameless satisfaction.

“You’re a natural!” she shouted, and as Matt rose back up she shot down past him, a white tipped golden arrow, cackling as the rush of air sent Matt tumbling, his own face splitting in excitement as he turned and shot off after her a moment later. They flew fast and lithe, a hundred feet above the rolling landscape, over glistening lakes and migrating herds of buffalo, over fruit‑strewn orchards, azure lakes and sandy shores. Jane led him into a forest, between a maze of high-rise tree trunks, and together they twisted and turned beneath the suddenly cool and mottled canopy, weaving so fast through leafy boughs and hooting monkeys there were moments Matt was sure he was going to crash. But always at the last second he managed to turn and right himself, racing at breakneck speeds behind Jane’s golden trail, and after a minute or two he heard her whoop and shoot straight out through the topmost branches. He followed her up and they ascended into the clouds, breathless, where he found her waiting for him, grinning from ear to ear, wind blowing through her hair, sunlight shining through her dress, this impossible girl floating above an impossible planet. Matt slowed, leaned his body back so he was drifting, staring upside down amongst the blue and open sky, gazing down with wonder at the majesty below. The colours swirled and blurred, and Matt realised he was crying – wordless tears flowing down his cheeks and onto this incredible world, the dark specks of animals moving in their herds, the distant drift of eagles, the long necked Brontosaurus shuffling in their herds across the plains. He turned to Jane and their eyes found each other, their beaming, almost aching smiles, and as though guided by the clouds themselves they drew together and embraced in the celestial sky. His lips found hers, soft and warm, his hands running through her hair, her fingers rushing against his skin-

And they stayed there, joined together beneath the cosmos, as daylight faded into night.