The Citadel of Lost Children

Chapter 18: The Epilogue

Mouse chuckled and reeled Rick outside by his scarf, kicking the door shut behind them. Beneath the portico of fronds heaped with sweet-smelling snow, he touched their noses together, a small victory fluttering through him at the reminder that they were now the same height. "Who ever said they had to be mutually exclusive?" he teased as he pecked Rick on the lips. Then he took Rick's gloved hand in his metal one and walked with him around the southeast corner of the house.

Their boots crunched through the pink layer of ice that had crystallized overnight as they made their way to their favorite hillcrest. It always gave them the most stunning views of the Neapolitan Valley, and this evening was no exception.

The setting sun glinted off the strips of pink and brown—strawberry and chocolate, as far as Mouse's taste buds were concerned—that painted the mountainsides. A gust of frigid wind brought with it the scent of pecan from the surrounding snow-covered boughs, and the first of the night's ice cream flurries was beginning to circle down from the sky.

Mouse closed his eyes, lifted his face, and stuck out his tongue. Strawberry. He felt a squeeze at his hand, and when he looked over, Rick was regarding him with curiosity.

"So? What's this thing you wanted to show me?"

Mouse blinked before finally remembering. He blew an exasperated huff. "I swear, mind reading just takes all the fun out of things sometimes," he pouted. "Can't I have a big reveal for once?" Slipping off his one glove, he dipped his hand—oh, that was cold!—down the front of his robe.

It had stayed close to his heart for the past few days, rolling between the cleft of his pecs like a hefty, glass marble. He held it out to Rick, who peered closely at the bead of vivid magenta dangling on its golden chain.

"What is it?" he asked. But when he tried to reach for it, Mouse gently closed his fingers around it.

"It's a part of me. I mean—well, I made it."

Rick arched his brow. "Mouse." He smirked. "Are you saying you laid an egg?"

"Of course not!" Mouse blushed and shoved him playfully with his elbow. "God, you're such a kid." The snowfall was beginning to thicken, and he held his prized creation against his chest to keep it warm.

The last few years had been dedicated to spreading The One's word and helping ensure that the balance between Ricks and Mortys remained intact throughout the multiverse. What had transpired in the Citadel was only a small feat. Elsewhere, there were still countless versions of themselves that had fallen off the righteous path and were in need of their guidance.

Mortys were often easier to persuade than Ricks. They were quick to take up the mantle of their savior, even going so far as to mimic The One True Morty's appearance. The spiritual leaders dressed in white robes, shaved their heads, and tattooed their faces with red ink to honor Mouse's miracle on the night of the Great Morty Exodus. Even his prosthetic was worshipped as a means to enlightenment, his followers claiming that they had been saved by his Golden Touch.

Rick and Mouse's mission seemed all the more important once they'd heard that plans for the Neo Citadel were already underway. However, Auctioneer Rick, now simply "Richard"—It's pronounced Ree-shard, mon petit chou—had been proud to share that his new Council included the voices of both Ricks and Mortys, and it was already on its way to serving the populace as a true and just democracy.

Even Chi had found his place among the leadership as Director of Interdimensional Relations. Meanwhile, the former council members filled their own niche, relegated to janitorial duty to instill in them a sense of humility. The Captain of the Guard would not be returning to his post, opting instead to take an early retirement with his trusted second-in-command, a Morty who proved to be one of Mouse's most loyal followers.

When not proselytizing, Mouse passed his time in peace and meditation. He had years of reflection to make up for, and as he approached himself with forgiveness and sensitivity, he looked back on the journey that had brought him here. It had been full of hardship, a long and arduous march, but now he felt gratitude for all that had happened—and all who had led him to his Counterpart.

Mouse and Rick shared all things in their lives—their work, their leisure, their meals—and at the end of each day, they shared a warm bed. The nights were spent sometimes passionately, sometimes quietly, but always blissfully dream-free.

Save for that one night.

It had come to Mouse a few nights prior—a dream bearing a message that made a chill race across the back of his head whenever he recalled it. In the dream, he heard a voice that was both familiar and alien, humble yet regal. It said unto him:

"Place your golden finger upon your tongue, and you will birth your own keeper. He will be there at the beginning to set all events in motion. He will know where the cards fall and will be a guide to you in your darkest hour."

And when Mouse had awoken the next morning, he'd found this tiny pink egg sitting lightly on his tongue. At first it was no bigger than a humming bird's egg, but day by day it grew larger, and its purpose became clearer to Mouse.

"Does this mean we're keeping it?" Rick joked, wrapping an arm around Mouse's shoulder and gazing at the treasure in his hand.

To the outside observer, they likely made an odd pair, but they wouldn't have it any other way. Just Rick and Mouse versus the universe.

"No. He's not staying for long. I'll be sending him back soon. He has an important purpose to fulfill," Mouse said wistfully. He held the egg up to his face to peer at the small fetus that lay curled within, dreaming peacefully. "And he has my story to write."