Chapter One Hundred Sixty-Ten: John Rearden, Part Six

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Jack looked at him, the weight of his words settling into the silence as if a stone dropped in still water. John’s eyes searched Jack’s face, a flicker of confusion darkening into something rawer. Then John shook his head violently, a sudden burst of emotion pushing through.

“No!” he snapped, his voice breaking, rising with a raw edge. “No, this can’t be real!” His eyes were wide, wild—panic swirling with anger, desperation fraying at the edges. His breath came fast, ragged, like he couldn’t get enough air, the world closing in around him.

“This is insane! I must be dying—or already dead…” His voice cracked again, trembling under the weight of it all. “It’s too much—too everything. Too real, too impossible.” He stumbled over the words, his fists clenching at his sides, his body wound tight, teetering on the brink of losing control. “Is it just radiation? My brain—melting down before burning out?” His voice wavered, almost breaking. “The last flickering synapses firing off, desperately trying to make sense of everything before it all fades to black?”

“John, you already know the answer to that,” Jack said softly, his voice filling the quiet vastness of the stars. “Your body is safe, right where you left it, back in your little shop.”

John’s gaze flickered across the glowing universe around them, the quiet beauty of it all seeming to press in on him. “Why are you showing me this?” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “Who do you think you are? God?”

Jack laughed, the sound soft, almost wistful, as if the question itself carried a deep, unspoken meaning. “No, John. Not in the way you mean. I like to think perhaps we were both made in His image, but who really knows? Maybe I’m just a kid playing in the sand. Aren’t we all?” He looked at John, his eyes full of an ageless mystery, as though reflecting something vast and unknowable. “I have some authorship over my own part of the world, just as you do for yours, but the creator of all things? No, that isn’t me.”

Jack paused, and the space between them filled with the shimmering lights of distant galaxies, swirling, a slow dance of color and possibility.

John’s brow furrowed, confusion mingling with awe. “Why does any of this make sense to me?” he asked, his voice catching.

Jack’s lips curved into a gentle smile. “Because deep down, you already know it. You aren’t merely flesh and bone, and you never were—not entirely, anyway. You’re stardust, John. The same as every other living being, each a unique source of stories, of worlds, of countless possible futures. You—all of you—are the very source of magic itself. How you came by it, that’s beyond me—a gift from God, gods, or from the unknown. But what I do know is that the spark within you, that is you, is older than the mountains, older than the stars, older than any world you could ever dream of.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

John’s heart beat with a strange resonance as Jack’s words settled in, a profound truth he felt rather than understood, a truth older than time and larger than words.

They floated together amongst the stars, wrapped in the silence and beauty of the universe—two beings suspended in a sea of endless light, the chaos of existence having given way to this one serene moment. And for the first time, John felt that he truly understood his place in the universe; they were all playing in the sand, each one a breeze, a spark of the infinite.

In a heartbeat, they were back in the gas station, and John was in his body again. The pipe slipped from his hand, clattering to the floor, its sharp sound cutting through the sudden stillness.

Jack’s voice dropped to a somber note. “You asked, why I’m telling you this. John, I’ve been reaching across the void for a long time. As your universe yearned for something beyond itself, so did I, searching for someone who could hear me. Our universe moves faster than yours—an anomaly, perhaps, but every universe has its nature. And as our worlds collided long ago, it’s happening once more. Small pieces have already begun to slip across the divide. I’ve been calling through the chasm, seeking a mind ready to hear me.”

“Why me?” John’s voice was soft, quiet against the storm outside.

Jack sighed. “I wish I could tell you it was some prophecy or destiny. But in truth, I’m speaking to you because you heard me. You’ve been hearing me for some time, even if you weren’t ready to accept it until now.”

Outside, the sandstorm settled, but John barely noticed.

Jack turned to him. “John, I need your help. The next Convergence is coming. We are already running on borrowed time. The worlds are starting to collide once again. And this time, the darkness is ready. If we’re not careful—if we don’t fight back—the End might just get what it wants.”

He paused, nodding toward the door. “You’d better get that. Your friend’s outside.”

The sudden shift in tone threw John off balance. A knock sounded. John hesitated for a moment before heading over and unlocking the it. Eli stood there, a smile hovering just short of his eyes. John met it with one of his own.

“Storm let up and… I just wanted to say goodbye,” Eli said, his gaze drifting past John’s shoulder, taking in the mess left from John’s attempt to swing a pipe at Jack. His eyes passed right over Jack as though he wasn’t there, and John watched carefully, searching for any flicker of recognition.

“Redecorating?” Eli asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Something like that,” John replied.

Eli shrugged. He hesitated, then hugged John tightly before stepping back. “I’ll write once I’ve got my feet planted somewhere.”

As Eli left, Jack watched, his eyes far away. John turned to him, his shoulders heavy. “What now? What do you need from me?”

Jack pushed off the counter, taking a deep breath, his expression that of a man who’d fought too many battles—and wasn’t proud of them all. “Far too much, I’m afraid. Far too much.”