Noah lay on the blue-gold water of his domain and looked up at nothing in particular.
Far above, beyond the walls of his Domain, the banner of THE Narrative of Kings hung in the skies of existence. Forty-nine. A small number on a long list, held by a being who, a few years ago, had barely existed at all.
He let his thoughts go wide.
He saw the Keepers under their new snow, a Legacy that had bought its spring with its weakest, now shivering. He saw the Fiend on his terrace with his ever-open eyes, and Moriarty and many others in Lucy's Legacy, all of them looking up at the same banner and seeing different things in it.
There was the hand that had reached up from beneath the Keepers and closed on empty light. There was a kingship made of returns drifting somewhere through the dark.
From far enough away, it all looked very simple. Pieces moved, threads bent, and every strike was answered, one by one, at its own pace.
From close up, every piece had a face.
