Chapter 8: The Page That Did Not Turn
Destiny of the Endless did not sit. Not that he couldn't but . . .
He stood in his garden the way he always had, robed and silent, the Book chained to his wrist resting open in his hands. Around him stretched the quiet paths and hedges of the garden that had existed longer than most universes. The air carried a scent reminiscent of old, well-loved pages mingled with the fresh aroma of growing plants, creating a nostalgic and earthy atmosphere. Somewhere far away, unseen birds sang songs that had been repeating themselves since the first dawn.
Destiny read.
He always read.
Every step he would ever take, every word he would ever speak, every moment that would ever happen had already been written in the Book he carried.
The pages turned themselves when the time was right.
Tonight they did not turn.
Across the garden, Death of the Endless sat at the edge of a small pool that reflected stars from a sky that did not belong to any one world. She had kicked off her boots and rolled up her sleeves, letting her feet drift lazily in the water.
The pool was cool.
That was nice.
In one hand she held a glass of something cold and fizzy. The drink had appeared when she thought about wanting one. That was another nice thing about being one of the Endless.
She glanced over her shoulder toward her brother.
"Hey," she said casually. "Is it about to happen yet?"
Destiny did not look up from the Book.
"It is," he said.
Death leaned back on her hands, stretching comfortably.
"Cool. I love a good weird moment before sunrise."
She took another sip and swung her feet gently in the water.
For a while neither of them spoke.
That was normal. Silence sat easily between the Endless. They had known one another since before language existed. Destiny, the formal and distant type, but Death can talk to him like a sibling who has known him literally forever.
Death tilted her head toward the Book.
"So," she asked lightly, "you've been staring at that same page for a while now."
Destiny slowly turned a page, but it didn't quite complete the turn. The page seemed to hesitate, as if it were caught in a struggle
—both resisting and yielding at the same time—
while Destiny's hand continued its steady motion, trying to turn it fully, without success.
Death noticed immediately.
"Oh," she said softly.
Now that was interesting.
The Book of Destiny did not hesitate, nor did it pause. It could not and did not forget, yet this page lingered.
Death slid off the edge of the pool and wandered closer, peeking at the open page like a curious sister reading over someone's shoulder.
The words written there described a quiet nursery in a mansion outside Gotham.
A baby sleeping badly.
Sweaty sheets.
Too many clocks.
Death leaned slightly closer.
"Oh," she said again, this time with a little smile. "It's the kid."
Destiny said nothing.
He did not need to.
The Book continued.
The child struggled in sleep.
The clocks ticked.
Time pressed forward the way it always did.
Then the page did something unusual.
It left a small space.
One second long.
Death blinked.
"Well," she said softly, "that's new."
Destiny's voice remained calm and distant.
"It is written."
Death leaned her elbows on the open Book, chin resting on her hands.
"Yeah, yeah, everything's written. I know how your whole deal works. But usually it doesn't leave little blank spots like that."
She tapped the edge of the page.
"Kid needed a nap, huh?"
Destiny turned another page.
The Book showed the universe stopping.
Every clock pausing.
Every star holding still.
Every living thing frozen in place.
Except one small boy floating gently above his crib.
Death watched quietly for a moment.
Then she smiled.
"Good instincts."
Destiny remained silent.
Death circled around him slowly, studying the page.
"You've been watching him since he got here, haven't you?"
Destiny did not deny it.
Death rocked back on her heels.
"Same," she admitted. "Reincarnated soul. New timeline anchor. Weird connection to time itself. That's the kind of thing that ends up on my schedule eventually."
She paused, thinking.
"But not tonight."
Destiny turned another page.
Death leaned closer again.
"Does he know what he did?"
Destiny answered simply.
"No."
Death grinned.
"That's probably for the best."
She walked back to the pool and sat down again, feet sliding back into the water.
"Poor little guy just wanted the clocks to shut up."
Destiny's voice carried quietly through the garden.
"The universe listened. And. Now. It is written."
Death looked up at the sky.
"That's going to make some people nervous."
She took another sip of her drink.
"Do you think our old man noticed?"
Destiny did not respond.
Death tilted her head thoughtfully.
"Yeah, he probably doesn't care . . . You going to tell anyone?"
Destiny turned another page.
"No."
Death smiled softly.
"Good."
She stretched, kicking the water lazily.
"Let him sleep."
The Book turned another page.
In the distance, somewhere in a quiet mansion near Gotham, the clocks began ticking again.
Death glanced at the Book one last time.
"Hey," she said.
Destiny waited.
She smiled faintly.
"I like this one."
Destiny closed the page.
"It is written."
Death leaned back against the stone edge of the pool.
"Yeah," she said.
"But it's going to be a fun read."