Fu lay on his back beneath a giant convex lens, looking up at the night sky. The glass cylinder was strong enough for him to see across the sky and into the heavens where the stars danced and the gods marched from horizon to horizon.

            The hair on Fu’s arm stood on end. The air was electric. Tonight was a historic night. He could feel it. He had been, as his life’s pursuit, plotting the stars in the sky. Seventy years on Circadia and for sixty of them, he had watched the sky from the Tower of Tomorrow. He had charted more stars than any Uxai scholar before him, four times as many as He Hua, twice as many as the venerable Bo Shun, and even more than Shi Shi who was currently regarded as the expert in the subject.

            Everything would change.

            Now.

            “I have it! Sun and moon and stars I have it!” Fu pushed himself from beneath the lens with the strength of a man half his age. “Suchart, wake the masters! Wake the council! Wake the scribes! Wake everyone!” He leapt down the spiral staircase three steps at a time. The wood planks—older than he was—creaked from the force of his steps. Dust and wood particles showered down beneath the stairs. Fu moved so quickly that he ran right into the debris he was causing. He coughed forcefully, but did not slow.

            “I have it, Suchart. I have the proof.” He flew off the stairs and across the landing to a cushioned bench where his robe was properly folded and carefully placed on one end. On the other end, a cat napped, ignoring the commotion.

            “I told you, didn’t I?” he asked, unfolding his robe and pulling it over his head. He did not stop talking, even with the cloth covering his face. “Twelve years ago I told you that they were disappearing, but would you listen? No of course not. But I was right and now I have the proof.”

            The cat opened its eyes, turned, and looked at the old man with obvious disdain on its face. It did not appreciate being disturbed.

            “Don’t look at me that way, Suchart. I am right and you are wrong. Making faces won’t change that.” The cat blinked once and then put its head back down. “There is no time for sleep, you lazy bag of bones. You must wake Master Bo Bai so that I may present my case.”

            The old man began straightening his robe, pulling off specks of lint where he found them. With each turn of his head, dust from the stairs fell free of his hair and littered his robe. He futilely tried to wipe it clean, but eventually gave up. Suchart the cat did not move.

            “What? You’re still here?” He stared at the cat. “Quite right, Suchart! Master Bo will not be asleep. Wake the council instead. They will want this entered into the Imperial Annals immediately!” Suchart opened his eyes to a squint. Fu waved his hand brusquely at the cat. It jumped to its feet. He waved his arm again and it leapt off the bench and ran toward the door. “And don’t forget the scribes. This must be properly documented!” he called after.

            Under the bench were Fu’s sandals, thick slabs of leather nailed to wooden rectangles with leather cord for fastening. He pulled them on slowly, making sure each strap was fashioned and folded precisely. He took broad steps at a quick pace, out the door of the observatory and down the tower’s stone staircase. Master Bo would be—as he had been for the last year—at the top of the Tower of Today. It was no short walk and any other night Fu might have had one of the younger acolytes carry him across the gardens. He had energy to spare, tonight, and the seven gardens, each 120 meters long, passed in the blink of an eye.

            Fu began to remember his age halfway up the Tower of Today’s steps. By three-quarters, he wished an acolyte had carried him across the gardens. He stopped a few times to catch his breath, each time looking back down the stairs in hopes that a scribe or one of the council members might be on his way to see Master Bo as well. The council members were all venerable, well beyond his years, and would not ascend the tower unattended. Perhaps he might impose on them that one of their acolytes might carry him the rest of the way.

            No one came.

            Eventually he stopped looking over his shoulder and pushed onward. He could hear the steady thrum of Master Bo’s meditative intonations and knew he was near the top of the tower. By the time he explained his need, he could have traversed the rest of the staircase himself.

            Much like the Tower of Tomorrow, the Tower of Today was sparsely furnished. There was a cushioned bench near the door and cushions on the floor for students who came to listen to Master Bo’s wisdom. There was a spiral staircase up to a higher observation point, but rather than a window in the roof as Fu was accustomed, there were windows in all directions at eye level, so a person might look out on the world before him.

            The cushions were stacked to the side and the bench was empty. It was just Fu and Master Bo.

            “Damnit Suchart, where are you?” he whispered. Fu looked over his shoulder and listened at the staircase but heard only Master Bo.

            The butterflies in his stomach told him to go back to his tower until summoned, but the astronomer stood his ground. He had grown up admiring Bo Bai and would not shame himself in front of the master a second time. Fu had met him only once before, in this same chamber twelve years past. He had come to the master then with his findings. Bo Bai had been, as he was now, perfecting the “27 Movements,” the 27 positions of perfect harmony. He had not acknowledged Pi Fu or his findings. He had not even opened his eyes. Fu had been—and was—crushed. Things were different this time.

            Fu looked up at the platform at the top of the tower. Bo Bai stood on his right foot. He left leg was bent at an outward angle so that only one toe touched his right knee. He right arm was positioned at an opposite angle with one finger touching his mid-section. His left arm rose straight up. He had held that position unmoving, Fu had been told, for the past month.

            Fu did not want to interrupt the man, but given their last encounter, he did not believe that politely waiting for an opportunity to speak would yield any results.

            “Master Bo Bai?” His voice was shaking. “I am Astronomer Pi Fu. I studied under Master Tuan Minh. I sent Suchart to fetch a scribe and the council, but he seems to have been distracted by a mouse.” His voice echoed in the empty chamber. The silence was oppressing. He felt so foolish, a boy in the midst of an Uxai legend. Bo Bai had been declared a master by the time he was thirty. Fu had never even submitted himself to examination.

            “Master Bo Bai. We met in this room twelve years ago. I came to you about a finding I observed with my lens in the Tower of Tomorrow.” Nothing. “You were disappointed because I could offer only a singular observation with no corroborating evidence.” Still nothing. “I have pursued that evidence for twelve years, and I come to you now ready to prove my case.”

            Pi Fu breathed heavily as if he had just climbed the tower stairs again. His heart thundered in his chest. He wondered if Bo Bai could hear it as well. Was it so loud as to echo in the empty chamber?

            “Tell me, Astronomer Pi Fu,” the voice rasped. Fu wondered when the last time the man had spoken. “What have you seen?”

            Fu straightened his robe, brushing away more lint. He stood to his full height.

            “The end of the world, master.”