Chapter 9 of “The Spiral’s End”

Author’s Note: Thank you for joining me for the last chapter of this journey. If you are new to the story, I suggest you start with Chapter 1. Your comments are very welcome!

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Arthur Blake stood in the control room, his eyes flicking from one monitor to another as alarms blared throughout the dome. Red lights flashed above the doors, and the harsh, insistent warning tones filled the air. Around him, people rushed everywhere, shouting orders and trying to make sense of the chaos.

“What the hell is happening?” Arthur barked, his voice cutting through the noise.

One of his assistants, a pale, nervous man in a fitted suit, glanced up from his console, panic etched across his face. “Sir, there’s been an attack—a courier ship coming in was destroyed. But there’s… there’s someone here. She survived.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, a chill running through him. “What do you mean ‘survived’? No one could survive that explosion.”

“She—she’s walking through the dome now, sir,” the assistant stammered, his hands trembling as he pointed at one of the monitors. “Heading for the secure corridor. Toward the artifact.”

Arthur turned to the screen. His breath caught as he saw her—a woman walking calmly through the chaos, her face unreadable, her movements unhurried. The guards were scrambling to respond, but they weren’t firing. They just stood there, watching her like they were frozen.

“Who the hell is she?” Arthur muttered to himself, his fists clenching. He didn’t wait for an answer. He knew. It was her—the one chasing them across half the solar system. The reason they lost the station and the satellite, forcing him to redirect the spiral here to the surface.

Deia.

Arthur gritted his teeth and stormed toward the exit, ignoring the chaos around him. His pulse quickened as he made his way through the winding corridors of the dome, past panicking staff and confused security personnel. His mind raced with fury. How had she gotten here? How had she survived the courier’s destruction? And, more importantly, what was she planning to do?

By the time he reached the secure corridor, his heart was pounding. The spiral was just ahead, escorted by a heavily armed guard team. The artifact was on its way to a secure room, but the closer he got, the more he felt something—different. There was a strange, almost electric tension in the air.

And then he saw her.

Deia stood at the far end of the corridor, calm and unwavering, her eyes locked on the spiral. The guards had formed a protective ring around it, their weapons trained on her, but not a single one had fired. They were terrified—he could see it in their faces.

Arthur stormed forward, rage boiling inside him. “Stop her! What are you waiting for?” he shouted at the guards, but they didn’t move. They were frozen in place, paralyzed by something they couldn’t understand.

He pushed past them, his eyes blazing with anger as he stepped into the center of the corridor, directly in Deia’s path. “You don’t belong here!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls. “You have no right to be here or interfere with what we’re doing!”

Deia didn’t respond. She kept walking, her calm, focused gaze cutting through him like a blade.

Arthur’s chest tightened with fury. He stepped forward, his hand outstretched, as if to forcefully stop her. “I’m doing what’s necessary—what the world needs. Do you think you can stop me? You think you have any idea what’s at stake?”

He lunged toward her, his fingers closing on empty air.

His hand passed through her.

Arthur froze, his outstretched arm hanging uselessly in front of him. He blinked, confusion flashing across his face as he tried again—this time more desperately as if the first time had been some kind of trick. But his hand passed through her once more as if she were nothing but a phantom, a wisp of air.

“What…?” Arthur gasped, stumbling back. He looked down at his hand, then back at Deia, his mind spinning. “What the hell are you?”

Deia’s expression remained unchanged. She didn’t even seem to register him as a threat. She walked past him, her eyes fixed on the spiral, the guards parting in silent, terrified awe as she approached.

Arthur staggered back, his heart pounding in his chest. “Stop her!” he shouted again, but his voice cracked, and the words felt hollow, powerless. The guards didn’t move. They couldn’t. They had seen what he had—she was untouchable.

“Deia!” he shouted, desperate now, scrambling for control. “You have no right to stop us! The spiral belongs to us! We built this world; we kept it running! We deserve this power!”

Deia paused momentarily, her head tilting slightly as if she were considering his words. Then she turned her gaze to him, and Arthur felt something cold twist in his gut.

“You don’t deserve anything,” she said quietly, her voice calm and steady.

The words hit him like a slap, and for a moment, Arthur was paralyzed. He watched helplessly as she continued toward the spiral, the artifact pulsing faintly as though it recognized her presence.

Arthur’s mind raced, grasping for any semblance of control, but it was slipping away—like water through his fingers.

“Deia, listen to me,” he said, his voice strained with desperation. “You don’t understand. We’re not your enemy. We’re saving the world. The spiral—without it, humanity will fall apart. Do you think people can survive without it? You saw what happened when the models stopped working! Chaos, panic—collapse! We’re the only ones who can manage that power. If you take it away, it’s the end of everything!”

Deia stopped in front of the spiral, her hand reaching out toward the artifact, the hum of its energy pulsing around her. She didn’t look back at him.

“You’ve used this to control,” she said, her voice soft but persistent. “To manipulate. To rule. It’s not about saving the world—it’s about saving yourselves.”

Arthur’s mouth opened, but no words came out. His mind was spinning, his body frozen as Deia’s hand hovered over the spiral.

“No!” he finally screamed, his voice hoarse with fury and fear. “You can’t do this! You can’t—”

But before he could finish, Deia’s fingers brushed the surface of the spiral, and the world around him erupted into light.

---

Deia stood before the spiral, its soft, pulsing light drawing her in. The hum, the presence she had felt so many times before, was now a roar in her mind, pulling her deeper into something she couldn’t fully understand. It was calling her—beckoning her to reach out, take it, and become.

She stared at it, her heart pounding. She could feel its power thrumming through the air, wrapping itself around her, whispering promises of understanding, of clarity. But she was terrified. She had seen what the spiral could do, how it could warp people, twist them into something else entirely. She wasn’t sure if she could handle that kind of power—or if she even wanted to.

What am I doing here? she thought, her hand hovering over the spiral. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want to be part of this.

But the truth was, she had been part of it for a long time. It started when she first touched the spiral inside that ancient ship on Mars. There was never any turning back. Not really.

Deia clenched her fists at her sides, her breath catching in her throat as she looked around the corridor. The quiet aftermath of the confrontation with Arthur was still hanging in the air. The guards, the alarms, and the chaos felt distant now. This moment was everything. She could still feel Arthur’s desperate words ringing in her ears, but they were fading, swallowed by the pull of the spiral.

“Help me?” a voice whispered in her mind.

She froze, her body rigid. The voice was faint, as if it were coming from far away, through layers of darkness. It was the same voice she had felt before, but this time, it was clearer and more insistent.

Deia took a step back, her heart pounding. “What… what do you need?”

But there was no answer. Only the faint echo of the plea, Help me.

The darkness pressed in around her. The world seemed to tilt slightly, the corridor stretching out, becoming dimmer and less real. The spiral’s glow was the only constant now, pulling her closer and urging her to listen and understand.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you want,” Deia muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

But she did know, deep down. It wanted her. It needed her.

She could feel it now, clearer than ever. The spiral needed to be completed. It wasn’t just a tool or a power source—it was something more significant. Something ancient and alive but broken. 

At some point in its journey, something was taken from it. How that had been done, she did not know, but a piece was missing. It didn’t just need her help; it needed her. It needed her to become whole again. She could say no. That was important to it.  She could say no. She could turn away, walk out, leave it all behind. But then what?

Deia’s hands trembled as she closed her eyes, wrestling with the choice in front of her. She could feel the weight of it, the crushing enormity of what she was about to do.

“I could stop all of this,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I could fix it all… or I could destroy it.”

Help me. 

The voice was more urgent now, but still soft. It wasn’t a command—it was a request. A plea. It was asking her to decide.

Deia stood there, frozen with indecision, her mind racing. If she said yes, what would she become if she gave in and joined the spiral? Would she lose herself entirely? Would she be nothing more than a vessel for its power and will?

But what would happen to everything if she said no—if she walked away now? To the people who were depending on her to make things right? To Sam and Elias’ sacrifices? To a world that was on the brink of collapse?

The pull of the spiral was almost unbearable now, its energy coursing through her, demanding an answer. She could feel its need, its loneliness. It had been searching for someone, for her, and now the choice was in her hands.

Deia took a deep breath, her fingers brushing against the surface of the spiral again. She felt the weight of the universe in that touch, the sheer depth of what she was about to do.

And then, before she could stop herself, she whispered, “Yes.”

The moment the word left her lips, the world went black.

---

Deia floated in the darkness, weightless and timeless. For a moment, she felt nothing—no fear, no pain, no thought—just being. And then the voice returned, louder, more insistent, like a thread pulling her through the void.

Help me.

She reached out, her mind stretching toward the voice, and suddenly everything came rushing back—the light, the sound, the feeling of everything. She was inside the spiral now, merged with it. And as the connection solidified, she saw.

She saw the cycle of life, death, and rebirth. She saw the connections between all things, the threads that wove through time and space, binding everything together. She understood the spiral’s purpose now—its role in maintaining the universe’s balance. It wasn’t here to control or to dominate. It was here to teach.

She gasped as the full weight of the spiral’s existence flooded her mind. She saw what it had been—an ancient force that guided civilizations, helping them grow, helping them understand the lessons of life. But somewhere along the way, it had been broken, twisted. And now, it was trying to fix itself through her.

Deia’s heart raced as the truth settled over her. She could fix it. She could put everything back the way it was. She could erase all the damage, all the suffering. She could restore balance.

But then she saw something else.

The lessons. The suffering. The struggle. It wasn’t a flaw. It wasn’t something to be erased. It was part of the cycle. Without the pain, without the chaos, there could be no growth, no learning. The spiral wasn’t here to create a perfect world. It was here to help people understand the imperfections.

Deia’s mind spun with the realization. If she fixed everything and erased the suffering, she would undo the very purpose of life.

She could fix it all. But it wasn’t hers to fix.

Her heart ached as the weight of the decision hit her. She couldn’t erase the lessons. They were the reason.

She felt the spiral hum softly around her, waiting. It had shown her everything. Now it was up to her.

Deia exhaled slowly, her body relaxing. “I get it now,” she whispered. “I understand.”

The spiral pulsed gently in response, and she knew what to do.

She smiled, a quiet peace settling over her as she began to release the connection. But before she let go, she sent out one final message—a quiet thank you—carried on the spiral’s energy waves: to Elias, to Sam, and to everyone who had been part of this journey.

The spiral hummed one last time, and then Deia stepped back, her feet finding solid ground as the light around her faded.

She was herself again, and so much more. And she was ready to face whatever came next.

---

Jason stirred in his sleep, his breathing slow and deep. The room was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window. It was a small, comfortable space, the walls lined with bookshelves, the faint scent of old pages and wood. The room had been his sanctuary for so many years, retreat when the world outside no longer made sense.

But tonight, something was different. He could feel it before he opened his eyes—an energy, a presence. Someone was in the room with him.

Slowly, he blinked his eyes open and turned his head. And there, standing at the foot of his bed, was Deia.

For a moment, Jason’s heart stopped. He blinked again, rubbing his eyes as if he looked too hard and she might disappear. But no, she was there—solid, real. Her long hair fell around her shoulders, and she always wore the same calm, steady expression. The same warm smile that could cut through any storm. 

But it couldn’t be. Deia had died. Years ago. On Mars. At the end of the spiral era.

“Deia…?” he whispered, his voice cracked with disbelief.

She smiled that same easy, peaceful smile. “Hey, Jason.”

He sat up in bed, his mind spinning. “This… this isn’t possible. You’re—” 

“Gone?” she finished for him, her eyes twinkling with a strange, knowing light. “I know. But I needed to see you.”

Jason’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind struggling to understand what was happening. “I don’t understand,” he muttered, gripping his thinning hair. “Why are you here? After all these years?”

Deia stepped forward, her movements slow and graceful, like she had all the time in the world. “I’m here to thank you,” she said softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed, her hand resting lightly on the quilt. “You’ve been strong, Jason. You chose to live with the lesson. And that’s the hardest thing to do.”

Jason stared at her, confusion giving way to something deeper—something more familiar. Slowly, he looked down at himself, at the way his body lay so still beneath the blankets. He frowned, blinking as the realization crept in.

He wasn’t sitting up in bed. He was still lying down, motionless, his chest barely rising and falling.

And then he remembered.

This was it.

The life he had chosen, the one he had lived for so many years, was over. It had come quietly, as he had always wanted. But the weight of it, the meaning of it, had only just now settled on him.

He looked back at Deia, who watched him with those kind, steady eyes. “I chose this,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

Deia nodded gently. “You did. And it was the right choice.”

A deep sense of calm washed over him as memories came flooding back—the years after the spiral era ended, the long days of peace he had spent away from the chaos of the world. He had never wanted the endless youth, the endless healing. He had wanted time—the real kind, the kind that carried with it meaning and purpose.

He smiled faintly, the lines in his face softening. “I guess I did, didn’t I?” he murmured. “I didn’t need more time than I had.”

Deia’s smile grew, her eyes warm with understanding. “No. You lived the way you were meant to. You learned what the spiral was always trying to teach us.”

Jason chuckled softly, shaking his head. “The lesson,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “All those years… it was always about the lesson.”

“Always,” Deia agreed. She looked around the room, taking in the familiar comfort of it. “You never needed the spiral, Jason. You chose to let time take its course. You embraced the lesson, even when it was hard. And that’s why I’m here.”

Jason looked down at his still form, a deep sense of peace settling over him. He had forgotten what it felt like to be free of the weight of time, to let go of the burden of the days ticking away. But now, as he sat with Deia, it all seemed straightforward. So simple.

He smiled at her, feeling lighter than he had in years. “I suppose it’s time, then?”

Deia nodded slowly, her eyes soft. “Yes. But you don’t have to be afraid. You’re not alone.”

Jason chuckled again, the sound low and quiet. “I never was, was I?”

“No,” Deia said, her voice full of warmth. “You never were.”

He took a deep breath, his gaze drifting back to the window, to the moonlight that bathed the room in its soft glow. He had lived how he wanted to, without regrets, without chasing more than what was meant for him. He had made his peace long ago.

He looked at Deia one last time, her presence still as steady as ever. “Thank you,” he said, his voice full of gratitude. “For everything.”

Deia smiled, her eyes shining. “Thank you, Jason. For choosing the lesson.”

Jason closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her words settle deep inside him. As the world around him faded into soft, comforting darkness, he smiled.

And moved on.

---

Lena sat in the corner of her small, crumbling home, staring into the empty cup in her hands. The faint scent of herbs lingered in the air, the remnants of the tea she had just finished. Her grandmother had taught her how to make it long ago, when she was still a child, still innocent, back when she didn’t know what real hunger or grief felt like.

Tradiq had died first.

She had watched him slip away, helpless as the spiral’s magic failed, its hum going silent. There had been nothing she could do, no way to save him. The water was terrible; the food was gone. He had looked at her with those wide, trusting eyes, even as his tiny body wasted away. Lena had held him, whispered to him, and told him he would be okay, even as she knew he wasn’t.

Then Mariam followed.

Lena had tried—oh, how she had tried—to save her daughter. She had given her every last scrap of food and water, but it hadn’t been enough. The spiral had kept them alive for so long, but without it, there was nothing. Lena held Mariam in her arms as she took her last breath, her small fingers curled weakly around her mother’s hand. 

And then, it was just Lena.

The men had come after that. Outside, she could hear their rough voices carrying on the wind as they scouted the village. They had been many times before, having their way, beating her, leaving her for dead, but they had not found her spiral, so she survived. 

They were coming again, but there was no spiral to bring her back this time. Only Lena and her choice. 

Her grandmother’s tea had been the only answer left.

Lena raised the empty cup to her lips again, though nothing was left to drink. She had made the tea carefully, using the herbs her grandmother had taught her about—the ones that would take her pain away, the ones that would free her from the grief and from the horrors that were coming. It was the only way to escape.

The sounds of the men’s laughter grew louder, and closer. But Lena felt nothing now. No fear. No sorrow. Just a strange, numbing quiet.

She closed her eyes, leaning back against the wall. Her body felt heavy, but her mind was drifting, weightless. This is the end, she thought. I’ve suffered enough.

Her breath slowed, her thoughts fading like smoke in the wind. She welcomed the darkness coming for her, the relief that would take her away from everything.

But then… she woke up.

Lena blinked, confused. She hadn’t expected to wake. The world around her felt strange and distant, as though familiar and foreign. Her body felt light and weightless like she wasn’t in it.

That’s when she noticed the woman standing in front of her.

The woman had a sad smile and eyes full of a deep, quiet understanding. She was beautiful and calm, but there was something in her expression that spoke of knowing too much, of having seen too much suffering.

Lena sat up, feeling a strange sense of peace, though she didn’t understand why. “Who… who are you?” she asked, her voice soft, almost dreamlike.

The woman didn’t answer right away. Instead, she glanced down at something near Lena’s feet. Slowly, Lena followed her gaze, and her breath caught in her throat.

Her body was slumped over in the corner, the empty cup of tea still in her hand, the last liquid spilled across her lap.

Lena stared, her mind struggling to understand what she was seeing. It felt impossible, unreal. She was here, she was awake. But there—she was, too.

“I… I’m dead,” Lena whispered, the realization hitting her like a wave. “They killed me this time.” 

The woman’s sad smile deepened, a quiet apology in her eyes. “Yes. They did.”

Lena turned her gaze back to the woman, her heart pounding in her chest—if she even had a heart anymore. “Who are you?” she asked again, her voice trembling.

The woman knelt beside her, her presence warm and comforting, like an old friend. “My name is Deia,” she said softly. “And I’ve come to help you.”

“Deia…” Lena whispered, the name familiar, though she didn’t know why. It echoed in her mind as though she had heard it long ago. And then, slowly, the memories began to surface.

Lena had heard stories of Deia when the world had first fallen apart. Deia was the woman who had been there at the beginning, the one who had touched the original spiral and understood. Deia knew everyone. She had seen everything.

Tears welled up in Lena’s eyes as she looked at the woman kneeling before her. “Why… why did this happen? Why didn’t I go sooner? Why did I have to suffer so long?”

Deia’s face softened, her eyes full of sympathy. “I’m sorry, Lena,” she said quietly. “Sometimes, the lesson takes longer than we expect. Sometimes, we must endure more than we can bear.”

Lena’s voice cracked. “I just wanted to stop hurting.”

“I know,” Deia whispered. “And now, you can.”

Lena looked down at her body again, the last traces of her suffering still etched into her lifeless form. The grief, the hunger, the fear—it was all there, still clinging to what was left of her.

“What happens now?” Lena asked, her voice trembling.

Deia reached out, gently taking Lena’s hand in hers. “Now, you can rest. You can move on if you’re ready. Or… you can try again.”

“Try again?” Lena asked, confused.

Deia smiled softly. “The lessons aren’t over, Lena. You’ve learned so much and endured so much. But there’s always more to learn if you want to.”

Lena looked down at their hands, feeling the warmth of Deia’s touch. She wasn’t sure what to say or if she was ready for whatever came next. But the weight of her grief was gone now, replaced by something lighter—hope, maybe.

“Can I try again?” she asked, her voice small, like a child asking for permission.

Deia nodded, her eyes full of understanding. “Whenever you’re ready. The spiral is patient. It waits for all of us.”

Lena took a deep breath—or what felt like a breath—and closed her eyes. She thought of Tradiq, of Mariam, of all the pain she had carried for so long. And then, slowly, she let it go.

When she opened her eyes, Deia was still there, waiting patiently.

“Thank you,” Lena whispered, her voice filled with gratitude.

Deia smiled, squeezing her hand gently. “You’re welcome.”

And with that, Lena felt herself drift, the darkness wrapping around her again. But this time, it wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t painful.

This time, it was peaceful.

Author’s Note: For immediate help from a caring, skilled counselor, reach out to 988Lifeline. (Call or text 988)

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She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the ship’s ancient, translucent walls. For a moment, everything felt strange and wrong, like she’d awoken too soon. Her talons clicked softly against the floor as she rose, stretching her long, feathered arms. The ship creaked and groaned beneath her, its voice old yet familiar and strangely content. She flexed her claws absentmindedly, feeling their sharpness, a reflex she had long forgotten.

She stepped forward, her large, birdlike feet barely making a sound as she moved toward the ship’s center. And that’s when the memory rushed back—Mars. Her long walk through the barren, red landscape. The spiral. The choice.

Her heart raced, but her breath caught in her throat as she looked around. The spiral—it was gone.

She whipped her head around, her eyes darting through the ship’s dim interior, searching for the artifact, the object that had consumed her thoughts and her journey for so long. But it wasn’t here. It had vanished. 

Did I fail?

Her feathers ruffled, irritation prickling under her skin. She had walked for so long, endured so much—had the spiral slipped away at the last moment? She clenched her fists, her sharp claws digging into her palms as frustration bubbled inside her.

But then, something caught her eye.

Down below her, on the deck of the ship, lay her body. Still, motionless.

She froze, the tension leaving her shoulders as she stared down at herself. The feathers that once lined her arms were limp, her talons curled gently against the floor, and her wings folded neatly at her sides. There was a strange serenity to how her body lay as if it had been left there with purpose, waiting.

A strange warmth spread through her as she began to understand.

This was the end.

She looked around again, this time noticing more details. The ship—this ancient, living ship—was familiar. Not just because it had been with her for so long but because it felt like her. It had always been part of her, its soft creaks and groans like a voice in the back of her mind. And now, it was… happy. At peace, even.

The air in the ship was light and warm, but it shouldn’t have been there, especially as the outer shell was beginning to superheat. The walls shimmered faintly, like the skin of some ancient creature, worn but still proud.

Then, through the thin, translucent walls, she saw the Sun. Close. Far too close.

She stepped toward the window, her sharp claws clicking against the floor, and watched as the ship’s outer shell began to glow, the heat intensifying. But she felt no fear. The ship wasn’t afraid either. The warmth it exuded was almost comforting.

“Deia.”

The voice startled her, but it wasn’t unfamiliar. Slowly, she turned around, and there she was.

Deia.

Her presence was calm and steady, just like the last time they’d met. She stood near the far end of the ship, her expression soft, her smile sad but understanding.

“You…” The words faltered on her tongue for a moment, memories flooding back. “You’re here.”

Deia nodded, stepping closer, her eyes gentle as they scanned the ship. “I’ve always been here, in one way or another.”

The woman—no, the creature, she thought, correcting herself—looked down at her motionless body again, then back at Deia. “I thought I failed,” she said, her voice soft but tinged with frustration. “The spiral… it’s gone.”

Deia tilted her head slightly, a small, knowing smile on her lips. “It’s not gone. It’s just moved on like you’re about to.”

The creature—she—felt the weight of Deia’s words settle over her, the confusion and frustration melting away. Of course. The spiral had completed its journey. And now, so had she.

Her long, feathered arms relaxed, and she let out a soft sigh, her talons no longer tense. “I remember now,” she whispered, her voice filled with a quiet sense of peace. “I remember why I chose this life.”

Deia nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. “You’ve come full circle. You’ve seen the journey through. You’ve learned everything you needed to.”

The creature smiled, her sharp teeth catching the light as the ship’s outer shell began to glow even brighter. “I was never supposed to hold onto the spiral forever, was I?” she asked, more to herself than to Deia.

“No,” Deia said softly. “The spiral was always about the journey, the lessons. And you’ve learned yours.”

The creature turned back toward the window, watching as the Sun grew impossibly large, filling the horizon. The ship’s skin shimmered, radiant and beautiful, as it drew closer and closer to the star’s surface. She could feel the heat now, but it didn’t burn. It was warm, and welcoming.

She smiled again, turning to Deia one last time. “Thank you,” she said, her voice filled with gratitude.

Deia’s smile deepened, her eyes soft. “You’re welcome.”

The creature felt the ship hum beneath her, a gentle, final sigh. And she knew that both she and the ship were ready. There was nothing left to hold onto now.

As the ship drew closer to the Sun, the light grew blinding, enveloping them in a radiant glow. The heat was no longer oppressive, no longer something to fear. It was the embrace of the end, the warmth of a cycle complete.

The creature smiled softly, her feathers settling as the ship carried her forward. She had walked on Mars, released the spiral, and found something important.

And now, she and the ship would move on.

Into the light.

Epilogue

Deia stood in the center of everything, her bare feet resting on the soft, shifting nothingness. The spiral pulsed gently before her, a living thing coiled tightly in its final form. She felt its energy thrumming through her, a part of her, yet also separate, waiting to be released. It had always been waiting.

Around her, there was no time, or space—just the infinite stretch of the universe, its quiet hum wrapping around her like a familiar song. She had returned to the beginning, where everything had started, and she instinctively knew what would come.

She looked at the spiral, its form glowing softly, its edges shimmering like the first light of creation. It was small now, contained, but inside it was everything. All the potential, all the cycles of life, death, and rebirth, waiting to be set free again. This was her final task. She had walked through life and beyond, had seen what the spiral truly was, and now, she was ready to become it.

Deia took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment as she felt the weight of the universe press in on her. It wasn’t heavy, though—it was light, delicate, like the touch of a feather. She had carried it for so long, witnessed its power and struggles, and now she was at peace.

Slowly, she raised her hands toward the spiral, her fingers trembling with the enormity of what she was about to do. But there was no fear now, only understanding. She had always known that this moment would come, that the journey would lead her here.

“Deia…” the spiral whispered, its voice gentle, like a breeze across the stars.

She smiled, her eyes still closed, and whispered, “I’m ready.”

Her fingers brushed the surface of the spiral, and in that instant, everything began to change. The tight coil of energy, the contained power that had shaped worlds, began to loosen. Deia could feel it unraveling beneath her touch, and the strands of the new universe expanded outward, weaving themselves into the fabric of existence.

The spiral unfurled, its light spilling out in all directions, filling the void with a brilliance that was both blinding and soft, like the dawn of the first day. As it expanded, Deia felt herself begin to dissolve, her form melting into the light and the energy spreading out across the universe.

But she wasn’t disappearing—she was becoming everything.

She could feel the stars being born, could see the galaxies swirling into existence, each one a part of her, each one connected to the spiral’s unfurling power. She was the light, the dark, the space between. She was the breath of creation, the pulse of life, the quiet death that would one day come for all things, only to give birth to something new.

She was the spiral.

Deia opened her eyes, though she no longer had eyes to open. She was the universe now, spread out across the infinite expanse, woven into every atom, every particle, every distant star. She could feel the connections between all things, the way the cycles of life and death flowed endlessly, like the turning of a great cosmic wheel.

And she understood.

The spiral had always been about the journey and lessons learned along the way. It had never been about controlling time, life, or death. It was about the balance, the rhythm of existence, the quiet, eternal truth that everything was connected, that every ending was also a beginning.

Deia smiled, though she no longer had a mouth. She could see it all now, the infinite beauty of the universe, the way it danced and sang in perfect harmony. She could see the souls moving through it, each learning, growing, becoming part of something greater than themselves.

She had the power to fix everything, rewrite the universe, and undo all the suffering and pain. But she knew now that the lessons—the struggles, the failures, the triumphs—were the reason for it all. Without them, the cycle would be meaningless, and the universe would be hollow.

So she let it be.

The spiral continued to unfurl, expanding outward, creating and recreating, filling the vast nothingness with light and life. And Deia was part of it—always part of it—not just woven into the fabric of existence, but driving it. She was the will, the force that chose motion or stillness, creation or restraint. The spiral unfolded, but it was her choice that shaped its path, her presence that gave it direction.

She had returned to the beginning, and in doing so, she had become the universe itself.

The stars flickered softly in the distance, their light reflecting the quiet peace of eternity. The spiral, now fully unfurled, shimmered gently, a reminder of all that had been and would ever be.

And with that, Deia smiled one last time, her presence dissolving into the vastness, her essence becoming one with the infinite.

The journey was complete. The new universe moved on.

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Author’s note: Thank you for reading my story. Your thoughts and suggestions at this point are very welcome, so leave me a comment, positive or negative!