There was still a chance. As long as she kept the demon talking, there was still a chance.

“Y-you know full well we never mistrusted you,” Allya countered, trying to steady her voice. The demon had been right; one wrong move and this entire planet would be nothing but dust in space.

Allya paused, gesturing to the swirling magic with the tip of her sword. “We weren’t afraid of you. We were afraid of…. that. We were afraid of what was happening to you! It was eating you alive, taking up all of your days and nights, years of your life…. All that time was lost. Don’t think we saw it, the way your eyes glowed red every time we mentioned your magic. Bit by bit, it was taking you away. We were losing you,” she said, trying desperately not to choke on her words. “We didn’t want to lose you. Taking away your magic was the only way.”

The demon snorted. “So what you’re saying is, you cared nothing about my happiness if it hindered your own. And when you had the even the slightest fear for your safety, you stamped out the threat, never mind how it wasn’t a threat at all— and how it gave me the greatest joy in the world! Oh, how selfless of you! And look where we are now.” The demon snarled, pointing to Allya’s still-raised sword. “I’d think you’d like nothing better than for me to meet my end tonight.”

“Wrong again,” Allya said. She glanced back at her mother, who was hunched over, head bowed. And Allya knew she had only one option left.

“I know what we did was wrong. I’m not asking for forgiveness, because Mama and me? We did something that can’t ever be forgiven. But despite everything, we have always loved you. We never wanted to hurt you— we thought the magic was hurting you, and we wanted you back. The old you.”

“So you couldn’t accept change,” the demon snapped. “That I was changing.”

Allya could sense it happening, the occasional cracks in the demon’s hard persona. But it hadn’t broken yet.

Her confidence grew as she plowed on. “We have always wanted the best for you, Mama and me. And we still love you.”

The demon cackled loudly. “HAH! Love? You know nothing of love. That’s a lie. It’s all a lie. Everything is a lie when it comes to you.” Her gaze sharpened as she met Allya’s eyes. “You don’t love me and you never will. Nothing you could ever do will ever change that. And because you will only ever fight against me and what I truly love, then you must be exterminated.” She offered Allya a poisonous smile. “You’re a threat. I’m going to stamp you out, just like you did to me, all those years ago.”

The demon moved her hands in a rhythmic motion, and ball of red magic expanded, glowing brighter and brighter. A strong wind swept across the land, blowing back the demon’s dark cape and long onyx-black hair, Allya watching in horror as the bloodred red color was mirrored in the demon’s eyes.

“I w-won’t let you,” Allya stammered, already feeling her knees give way in the magic. She just had to fight a little bit longer… “I’m going to prove I love you. I’m going to give the one thing you want more than anything, right now, in this moment.”

The demon growled, showing her sharp white teeth, her words loud and booming over the storm of red magic and wind. “And what is that?”

Allya’s voice was small.

“My death. Goodbye, sister.”

And with that, Allya plunged her emerald sword into her chest, the light leaving her eyes just as the last of the sun sank below the horizon and the screams of the demon were drowned out by the howling winds and streaks of blood red magic smothering them all.

Allya unsheathed her sword.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” the demon said. “One move and our planet gets wiped of all life.”

Allya eyed the demon’s hand, swirling with shimmering magic the color of blood. She didn’t have to ask to know what that magic could do.

She glanced behind her, at her pathetic little army. Her friends; Lila, Dame, Wreese. The few dozen fighters who joined them in a final attempt at peace. Even her mama. To Allya’s horror, all of them were backing up, slowly, lowering their weapons to the ground and raising their hands in surrender.

But the sound of clinking metal nunchucks and swords, wooden javelins and crossbows, maces and knives, dropping to the hard ground behind her was nothing compared to the way her stomach was dropping right now. One by one, her friends and her family were deserting her because they had given up. Their eyes were wide with fear and terror, but they were also dim. Dim with hope.

Allya turned back to face her enemy, her sweaty hands still wrapped around the emerald hilt. This was only her battle now.

The demon’s lips curled into a smile. Her raven black cape billowing behind her, she began to walk towards Allya. “You always thought you could outdo me, didn’t you? Always thought you were one step ahead.”

“We— we were one always step ahead,” Allya spat back, angry at herself for the way her voice was shaking. “You were just two.”

The demon’s wicked grin grew wider. Allya kicked herself for saying that.

“So this is how it ends?” the demon asked. “You praising my plotting skills while self-deprecating and wallowing in your own regrets? You were always one to be too hard on yourself.”

The magic in the demon’s hand had grown brighter, bolder. A pulse of scarlet in the fading light. “Unfortunately I can’t say it worked out in your favor. I did always think action was better than inaction. Turns out I was right.”

“Not when the action is wrong,” Allya countered. Maybe if she could keep the demon talking, the demon wouldn’t let go of that magic. At least long enough for one of Allya’s allies to come to her aid. Somebody would. Somebody had to.

But out of the corner of her eye, all Allya could see were the sagging shoulders of her mama. Her hands were still raised as if she were part of a death parade, and there was a look in her eyes that pained Allya to her soul. Defeat.

So her mama had given up, having seen the worst of everything she had done, all of her own mistakes that kept unraveling into a spiral of evil and hatred and endless destruction. But Allya hadn’t. Allya had seen the good parts of her mama’s choices, the parts that her own remorse had blinded her to.

And Allya knew there was a way to fix this. She just had to be careful about it.

The demon took another step closer, and Allya raised the sword ever higher. She had no idea if the demon could even be killed, but the intimidation should work in the plan that was slowly taking form in her mind.

“All the lying, hiding, cheating,” the demon went on. “You were afraid of me, weren’t you? Afraid of this. Afraid of us.” She caressed the magic in her hands, gazing down at the mass of shimmering sparks as if it were her own child. Allya shivered.

“You shunned us away because you knew our power was strong,” the demon continued. “You feared betrayal. You thought I would use it against you, because let’s face it. You didn’t trust me.” The demon’s face morphed into a snarl of hatred, and just for a second, Allya thought she caught something else in there. Pain.

“I’d be careful if I were you… one move and our planet gets wiped of all life.” His smile was endearing, even for a try-hard.

“You messed it up.”

“What?”

“It’s Uranus.”

“My anus?”

“No, the word. For the joke to work, it’s not, look, you said ‘our planet,’ but the joke only works if you say ‘Uranus.’”

Dmitri looked at his friend with the dead-eyed stare of a child listening to his father stumble over algebra homework. “I don’t get this thing you say. You said this joke and everyone laughed. I say this joke and there is no laughter.”

“It’s, whatever. Don’t worry about it. It’s a whole thing, with Captain Kirk and Klingons. What does he have in common with toilet paper? Star Trek? It’s a silly school kid joke that relies on a couple of pop culture puns. You know, never mind, it was a TV show from like a hundred years ago. It’s actually pretty gross if you think about it.”

“What is ‘Teebeeshow?’”

“Uh, you know what, buddy, let’s not worry about that. We have work to do. Let’s do that.”

“I was doing the work. Cleaning the latrine. Is it not my day to do so?”

“No, it is. You’re all good, buddy. I’ll start on the rest of the chore list.” Mitch patted his Russian colleague on the shoulder and moved around him, grabbing the chore list clipboard off the wall. He decided to knock out resupplying the food pods when the All-Hands klaxon started blaring, lights flashing throughout the various corridors. Without word, both he and Dmitri pulled themselves along the walls to their respective battle stations.

“Medyved in position,” Dmitri radioed.

“MacDougal in position.”

Mitch started punching commands into his Vartek console as the rest of the crew radioed their readiness to take action.

Finally, Commander Nguyen relayed the BLUF. “Alright folks, look like we have a level three contact in the Quantol 7 sector. Commander Graziani has requested we assist, as these visitors don’t seem too keen on playing nicely. And as you know I’m fond of reminding you, this is why you signed up for Space Force in the first place. Oo-hah?”

The crew returned the “oo-hah” in a spirited unison.

As Mitch triple-checked his scans and ensured his weapons systems were ready to rock he couldn’t help remembering discussions with his grandfather about this very thing. It happened every time he was called into combat. Something about the adrenaline mixing with the mundanity of system checks and process-following, the conflicting feelings of desiring a warriors death and not wanting to face his own mortality—It all came together in his mind in the form of conversations with a man that had been dead for over a decade.

“We’re wasting our time out there, kid.”

“Then why did you do it? Why does papa do it?”

Grandfather took a long pull of his Gandalf-esq pipe and let the smoke slowly escape in fat circles. It smelled like books and cinnamon. Mitch loved that smell. He’d taken up pipe smoking in the hopes of finding that exact mix, but gave up after being unsuccessful for years. Besides, spending years in space where every molecule of O2 is precious didn’t lend itself to the hobby of breathing in scented fire.

“We do it because of the chance. The one-in-a-million-million-million chance that we’re wrong. Don’t misunderstand me, boy, they’re out there. The math says they’re out there. The math also says that there is no way in hell that we’ll ever make any meaningful connection with them. But the math also says that our very existence is as near impossible as something can be, yet here we are.” He took another slow puff and looked into the night sky. They sat, rocking back and forth on handmade chairs, the gentle sounds of polite conversation mixed with hand-washed dishes just inside the home. His grandparents were that way: They lived on the cutting edge of technology and science for fifty years, so everything at home was analog, simple: Vinyl instead of streaming; Books instead of eReaders; Wood stove instead of HVAC.

Mitch loved it at his grandparents house.

“Papa said the real reason for Space Force was that we used to fight with Russia.”

“We used to wiggle our wieners at each other, but we never really fought with them.”

Mitch giggled, imaging what as sight that would have been. From the looks of the old men that always seemed to be in politics, he couldn’t imagine how that would ever have led to anything more than uproarious laughter.

“Don’t tell your grandma I said that.”

Mitch remembered those warm summer evenings—the times spent talking on the porch with Grandpa—as the best times of his life. It was the only way he made it through the early years, when either mom or dad seemed to always be training for space, in space, or in quarantine from having gone to space.

It wasn’t until he was in Space Force Pre-Training that first contact was made. It seemed so long ago. It had only been nine years since, but so much had changed. The first groups were fleeing something, in need of our help.

Humanity could help the Carbons.

The others, well, he never knew what happened to them, where they went next. They were all peaceful, or at least incapable of doing harm. Unfortunately, though, once communication was established with the Garlons it became clear that not every alien race needed our help. They weren’t all running from something; Some of them were the reason other aliens were running.

The immediate benefit of this newfound knowledge was that the petty bickering of various sovereign states ended and Earth came together to internationalize the Space Force and, with the help of the Garlons and Wo’Olars, work on ammunitions and armaments that would be capable of defending our home. It was a total, global effort.

The first battles were sloppy. If any of the major races had attacked Earth first than it would have been over as fast as it started. Luck or Divine Providence intervened and the first intergalactic baddies that attacked were soundly defeated, in spite of Space Force Command making just about every tactical error possible. Mitch remembered those days. He was at the Academy and it seemed like lesson plans were being uploaded hourly as new information was discovered, new technologies recovered. He stopped worrying about learning specifics and just got very good at learning quickly. Adapting. Becoming an expert on something quickly and for only as long as he had to before repeating the process when new information presented itself.

“30 seconds, you starry-eyed war-fighters.”

Commander Nguyen had ice in her veins. Only three classes ahead of him and she was already a legend. Mitch didn’t know if he wanted to be with her, or be her.

“Oo-hah!”

Mitch checked his radial and tapped his HUD into place.

Over the radio, in a slight Russian accent, he heard, “Let’s find these Klingons and wipe their anuses!”

Mitch shook his head and smiled as the first bogie popped up on his tracker.

After the recent discovery of Anta’s death, Ryan and Reyna were set on trying to find a worse case. A harder challenge.

‘Reyna, it’s been a while. We need something exciting again. Something to chase.’ Ryan was adjusting his blue flannel shirt, almost disappointedly viewing the evidence that caught Anta before she died: the small glass tube of sand. ‘Uh huh, yeah…’ the soft clicking of Reyna’s laptop and the mix of her mumbling was proof that she was not listening to a word he was saying. Ryan rolled his eyes. ‘Reyna. Reyna. REYNA!’ He had slammed his hands onto her desk, causing her cold coffee to spill and her to partially die inside. ‘JE-sus! What is wrong with you? I’m working on something!’ Reyna shook her head consolingly to herself, the click clacking of her laptop meaning she had resumed. ‘Oh- what are you doing?’ He peered his head over her shoulder nosily. Reyna slammed the laptop front down with an aggravated look drawn across her face. ‘I’m finishing the case files on Anta. Seeing if we left anything. If you had any decency, you’d let me continue.’

Ryan sighed. ‘Reyna, please. I’ve got an idea. There’s— apparently—‘ he was viewing case files on his laptop, ‘a bomb discovery near here. And it looks like a decent job. If we could take a look—‘ ‘What’s going on with you? Ever since the Anta case it’s like you dropped a level in seriousness. That’s a bomb, it could KILL us. It’s making me think you enjoyed the mission with Grayson.’ Ryan growled almost exact to the time when Grayson first arrived on the case. It made Reyna smirk. ‘No. I enjoyed that mission because it was fascinating—‘ (Reyna scoffed) ‘but, as you said, Anta’s.. dead now.’ ‘Just.. let’s do the bomb discovery, all right? Then I’ll go back to — whatever I was like back then.’ Reyna folded her arms disbelievingly. ‘So you’ll go back to the Ryan that cares about his work, is grumpy all the time, and takes things seriously?’ ‘No, no… probably not—‘ ‘…’ ‘All right, fine.’

The bomb had been discovered at a dinosaur exhibit somewhere eastern in the country. Ryan, as promised, went back to the regular Ryan, which surprised Reyna, but she went along with it. ‘So, uh, the bomb was discovered— here—‘ The instructor pointed at the map with a stubby finger— ‘and the bomb squad said it’s okay since you guys are… professionals.’ Reyna and Ryan eyed each other suspiciously. ‘Why’d you say it like that?’ ‘Like what?— oops, gotta run!’ At this point, Reyna looked like she was fed up of everyone at this point. ‘All right, let’s just—‘ She groaned, watching Ryan speed walk his way towards the bomb. ‘He’s gonna kill himself without me.. oh god, Ryan, no, it’s a LEFT!’ ‘THANK YOU!’ ‘You forgot the— bomb kit…’

Beepbeepbeep. The bomb’s fast ticking didn’t scare Ryan. Maybe because he wasn’t the one defusing it, but Ryan was Ryan. ‘All right, so there’s a red wire, yellow wire… black battery, hmm..’ ‘Ryan!’ ‘Right. So first you snap the red wire.’ ‘What?! Are you sure?’ ‘Idon’tknow— they say it in the movies.’ ‘Ryan, I swear to god—‘ ‘Okay, cut the yellow wire, please.’ Reyna cut the yellow wire anxiously. After the next few wires, the only two left were the blue wire and the red wire. She was hesitant, checking both wires carefully. ‘I’d be careful if I were you.. one wrong move and our planet gets wiped of all life..’ She glared at Ryan. ‘Careful? That’s rich, coming from you.’ ‘Cut the blue one.’ Reyna cut the blue one. Distorted loud crashing noises invaded the dinosaur museum, and Ryan stood in confusion. ‘Happy birthday, Ryan. I cut the wrong one. You’re dead now.’

“I’d be careful if I was you, one move and our planet gets wiped if all life,” the human proclaimed.

I yawned, stretched, and waited for her to leave. I walked gracefully to where she left her teacup, and swatted it on the Big Red Button. As a trans dimensional being, her threats were meaningless, and I was bored.

Nothing happened. Well. I guess wiping out all life on this rock would be a dull as when it was alive. Time to move on…

Wait. What’s that? Some mechanical sound.

Robots enter in the room. I recognize the model as Bath-0/Tex2001. Shit.

Before I can pounce, one grabs me. It sends some vibration so I cannot teleport away.

The other advances, and I swear it grins at me, despite a lack of face.

The warm water hits me, and I despair. I go limp, and give in.

Soap, more water, and a trim in a rather sensitive area. Then the robot releases me, and they both retreat. I think I hear the human laugh in the other room, her trick worked.

They will be revenge.

But damn, I look pretty.

The red numbers ticked ominously, counting down… to what exactly? Poison gas? Explosion? An oven full of cookies? He was pretty sure it wasn’t an oven of cookies but he was trying to think positive. “I’d be careful if I were you… one wrong move and our planet gets wiped of life.”

He told her unhelpfully. Her response was just as unhelpful. “It’s hardly our planet. It just D.C. and surrounding areas…” He was silent as he contemplated her grim words. The woman across from him was completely straight faced, no sign of emotion in her eyes as she surveyed the detonator in front of them, hidden in a silver briefcase, hidden even further in an abandoned industrial basement.

“Is that–?”

“Yes, moron, it’s sarcasm. I’m an introvert! Not a sociopath!”

He pouted, his lower lip stuck out like a child. “That’s not disarming the bomb.” She had to admit he was right. But the truth was she didn’t know how to even begin.

She was a journalist! Investigative, yes but never before had she tried to uncover a terrorist plot. She really didn’t mean to… she was just trying to write an article about foreign food packaging. She didn’t think that people sent individual bomb parts in boxes of cookies!

She watched as the numbers counted down from two minutes. A minute went by, to afraid to touch even the silver case, let alone one of the buttons or wires. “Sherlock Holmes should have figured it out by now.” Came her nephew’s smart response to the fifty-eight second left.

“Shut up.” He rolled his eyes but she didn’t notice. She had an idea now. Suddenly she found herself dumping out her purse on the damp, gritty concrete and sifting through the small mountain for… her multi-tool. Amazingly useful little things sometimes. She pulled out the blade and cracked the plastic casing around the timer.

“What are you doing?! Your going to set it off!” She shushed his worrying with a glare and set to searching through the wires. There it was! She pressed it but the clock kept ticking, counting until… “Three seconds!” Three seconds lasted for five seconds. Five seconds turned into ten… “What did you do?” She grinned sheepishly.

“Sherlock… season three?” His face creased in confusion. He always knew his aunt was eccentric but he still found himself constantly surprised, especially by her next words. ““There’s an off switch. There’s always an off switch. Terrorist organizations can get themselves in a lot of trouble with out them.”” She quoted. He stared at her dumbly.

“So you saved D.C. and the surrounding areas with your love of television and ridiculous memory for useless knowledge?”

“Well… it wasn’t useless… after all, I did save D.C. and the surrounding areas!” She said it so chirpily, as if this was just another day.

“With that logic… how are you not dead yet…?”

“Luck? I don’t know, kid but stick with me and maybe some of my luck will rub off on you!”

"I'd be careful if I were you..." Her voice drags across my ears like glass, shards of something sharp and painful, "One wrong move and our planet gets wiped clean."

Heat sizzles to life on my cheeks, in my chest. Anger is boiling hot, scolds my stomach and the Toothpaste-like breakfast I had earlier.

"Do you understand the stakes, Soldier? Or are you conducting yourself with your usual level of incompetence."

She calls me 'solider' in her tight, cold British accent. It's a nickname meant to degrade me, to condescend me. It doesn't work, most of the time.

I wipe away a bead of sweat that's gathered on the scar above my right eyebrow, the one I got in Training. Millie was in my class. She hated me then, still hates me now.

"You're not helping." My voice is low, lower than I thought it could go.

She scoffs, leaning harder into the doorframe, looming over me. Her tight white tank top shows off her slight, wiry frame.

My hands are steady. Red wire. Blue wire. Green. Yellow. Black. Red. My pliers hover over them.

I'm the only other Technician on the Spaceship, Millie does some mindless button-clicking job in the Cockpit. Why is she even down here?

"I wasn't lying, you know." She picks at a nail, at the long sharp nails that gave me my deep, pink scar, "If you fuck up, the Spaceship will fail, and the Earth will implode without the oxygen we're pumping from-"

I cut in, my vocal chords slamming together like loud, angry percussions, "From the oxygen filled planet near the massive Nebula, yeah, I know."

Millie stops picking at her nail. She goes stock still. Almost seems like she's stopped breathing, too. It doesn't matter, she could drop dead for all I care.

I cut the black wire, replacing it with tacky glue that helps the electrical current - Technology has come a long way since 2020.

"You aren't allowed to speak to me like that, Solider." She sounds colder, like the ice queen she really is.

I stand abruptly, easily a head taller than her. She doesn't shrink into herself, but something flickers in her eyes. I don't read into it.

"And I'm not a soldier," I press closer to her, the heat of my body melting the ice covering her's, "And you're not the Captain. You failed that Test, remember?"

Millie's hand shoots out, nails as sharp as they were in Training, when we were ten years younger and we hadn't been floating in a dark, star-full wasteland. I snatch it before it can cut across my skin. Not making the same mistake twice.

"Let go of me you fucking-" She starts loud, and angry, and full of years of blood curdling hate.

I squeeze her wrist, tight, pressing it into the wall, pinning her. The wild beast spilling from her lips dies out, only a soft, mindless sound left in her throat.

"That's enough, Millie, just stop." I ignore the blackness seeping out in her eyes, her pupils swallowing all the color, "It was fun when there were no stakes, but the stakes are too high now."

She tests my grip, tugs a little. I dig my fingers into the soft, pale skin of her wrist, and she sags. It's as if she's a puppet, and I've just cut her strings.

Millie's dark, black hair falls in soft waves down her chest. Her cheeks are a pretty peach color, lips parted to release small, soft sounds.

Mille would be beautiful if she wasn't such an asshole.

I let go of her, easily ignoring the feeble whine that pushes past her soft, pink lips. I step back. Away from the heat, from the years of familiar give and take, pull and push.

I clear my throat, facing the hallway out of the Electrical Circuit room, back to Millie, "Don't distract me next time I need to save the world, yeah?"

She scoffs, but it lacks her usual bite, "Sure thing, Peter."

I Ignore the flutter of hearing her call me 'Peter'. I Ignore how nice she smells, how warm her skin is, how pretty she is, how sharp witted and playfully cruel.

Ignore, ignore, ignore... maybe one day these feelings will go away.

Life has an end, but what happens after that end. Well this is it. This is the afterlife. For most people, they see nothing. However, some see more. Their afterlife is their fantasy.

Some fantasies are beautiful. Places in nature that are completely untouched by man. Or places where improvement upon improvements have been made to the point where everything is near perfection. These are the places that people fantasize about during their real life and get to live out in their afterlife.

Other fantasies are devastating. These are the fantasies of tyrants ruling over people who can have no say in anything. The fantasies where they are the one true ruler of all. It is from one of these fantasies that an issue arose.

Sometimes a warning can be given if a fantasy is reaching the apex of power. This warning can be as simple as rebooting the person’s afterlife. Although sometimes, a fantasy will slip by the warning system and end up gaining more power than you can believe. This is where we step in.

We are a group of the chosen few that aware of how the afterlife works. We have the ability to come in and stop fantasies from reaching a point where they could hurt other fantasies. Being a part in this group made me feel confident that we knew what we were doing and knew how handle any situation.

I think this is why it took me by surprise when someone came up to me and said, “I’d be careful if I were you… one move and our planet gets wiped of all life.”

My siblings and I recently had to move to another planet. I knew why. I had to fix this somehow. Our parents were killed by the explosion. I was the second oldest, making me and our oldest sister in charge of the little ones. Each day we worked on a plan to re-create the planet that we had previously lived on. It had exploded and it was our job to fix it. I had the fortunate advantage of being very advanced in technology and coding so I was working on a programming solution. Standing at the edge of the rock wall that separated the two planets, I worked my magic. I used technology and science to re-create the planet. My sister was behind me watching me, fascinated by what I was doing. “I’d be careful if I were you...one move and our planet gets wiped of all life.” she warned. I knew what I was doing this time. Not like the last time that caused the accident in the first place.

“I’d be careful if I were you…one move and our planet gets wiped of all life.”

I was a ten-year-old girl when I heard those words, but they haunt me even now at eighty.

Everyone tells me I dreamed it, and I don’t say I didn’t. All I know is that all my dreams have felt like dreams, even when I didn’t realize they were dreams until I woke up.

All except that one.

I don’t remember how I got there, but I was walking in a cave so dark I couldn’t see. It was so hot I could barely breathe. I’ve always been short, and I was small as a girl, but I had to stoop so low that I was almost crawling.

But even though I literally saw nothing, I knew I wasn’t alone. Don’t ask me how I knew he was there: I couldn’t hear his breath, I couldn’t smell him, couldn’t feel him, nothing.

But the gnome was there; that I knew.

I also knew we were going downward, deeper and deeper. I can’t remember when I began to hear it, but at some point I heard the terrible sound.

Under any other circumstances I would have identified the sound as someone snoring. But this was as though the entire earth was snoring all around me! I felt it more than I heard it!

“I’m scared, Peter,” I whispered.

I wasn’t trying to whisper, but the air was so still that I almost had to shout before I could be sure the gnome heard me.

Don’t ask me how I knew his name was Peter; I don’t remember him telling me.

“As you should be, June,” he said. He didn’t say it like a warning, or like a practical joke; he just said it.

The snoring that shook the earth became unbearable as we came to a place where the ground no longer sloped.

I still couldn’t see, but I knew that Peter the gnome was opening a very large door. The whoosh of cold air almost knocked me down.

“Take off your shoes,” said Peter curtly.

I didn’t ask questions or protest; I just took off my shoes. They were slip-on shoes, and I wasn’t wearing any socks or stockings. The sharp rocks and the dust assaulted my bare feet as I stepped through the door.

I found myself in an enormous building. I kept silent, as I would have done in church. The place seemed to demand it, even though the noise sounded more hellish than anything.

Now there was light. I have no idea where it was coming from; I couldn’t see any light source, natural or artificial.

But there was definitely light. A dull red light.

And then I saw HIM.

And trembled.

“That is not the Satan,” said Peter, answering my question before I asked it.

“Who is he?” I mouthed.

I was face to foot with the hugest giant I could have imagined. He lay down, taking up practically the whole space. A very old man, who looked like he had never known what youth was. His skin looked like it had been draped casually onto a skeleton. I knew that if I touched him, he would be ice-cold.

But the stench overpowered my other senses, and I wasn’t sure it was his breath.

If he hadn’t been snoring, I would have been sure this was a dead body.

“In his waking life all lived under him as their king,” said Peter. “He was called by different names. The Greeks called him Kronos. Now he dreams of the surface.”

In spite of myself, I reached out my hand.

“I’d be careful if I were you…one move and our planet gets wiped of all life.”

Every muscle in my body tensed up.

“What do you mean?”

“He dreams of you, girl,” said the gnome. “He dreams of all who dwell on the surface. All that happens above is but his dream. When he awakens again, it is the end.”

For once I wasn’t sure I believed Peter. I knew I was real. Besides, if I wasn’t, how could I wake him up?

So what held me back?

That only happened once, when I was ten years old. I’m now an eighty-year-old widow.

Not a day goes by when I don’t wonder what would have happened.

What if I, June Pandora Hargreaves, had awakened Kronos on January 27, 1951?