“Even with all the energy to be had, there is hardly any heat movement on this world. The level of heat entropy is extremely low. My prince, it is only a matter of time before Trayastriṃśa is lost.”
“Why can you not warm it? Or prevent the loss of what warmth it has? I am sure it would require an enormous amount of energy, but surely that is preferable to losing a world entirely,” Prince Siddhārtha said, struggling to understand.
“It is an insulation phenomenon,” Mahākāśyapa explained, a pained expression on his face. “With the expansion of Trayastriṃśa’s space, we are witnessing a rapid dispersal of its heat energy.”
“But why?”
“My prince, this region has been cut off from the rest of space by a fluctuation in its gravitational field. Through our efforts, we have been able to free a small portion of it, but it is not enough.”
“What did you mean by . . . Trayastriṃśa’s space expanding?”
“Even as Trayastriṃśa is sequestered by the local gravitational field, it grows larger.”
“But why here? Why only Trayastriṃśa?”
“Sadly, it is not only Trayastriṃśa’s space that is affected. All of the Six Heavens of the Realm of Desire are showing similar, fatal changes. We cannot afford to be optimistic about this. It may come to pass that we are forced to stage a mass exodus from this space altogether.” Maudgalyayana’s words were heavy with the weight of his sorrow.
“We had hoped for a solution in the past, but nothing has improved in the slightest,” Mahākāśyapa added.
The five now rode in a large translucent sphere that contained them and them alone. Beyond its confines, uncountable twinkling stars formed a sea of light all around them. Siddhārtha saw the monks only as vague shadows against that starry backdrop.
Gazing out into the vast expanse of star-studded darkness, he could see a giant torrent of light filling a third of all that was visible. It cut across the darkness, and the colors spilled from it like a waterfall: navy blue, deep green, indigo, and all the way across the spectrum to a brownish red. Bands of color split the darkness in half, seemingly in mid-explosion—yet no matter how long Siddhārtha watched, the light stayed perfectly still, neither blinking nor ebbing. That great field of light seemed stuck against the dark sky, frozen still as death. Which, he realized, was exactly what it was.
“My prince, there are over a hundred billion spiral galaxies here in Yāma, yet the warping of space has begun dispersing them, or collapsing them, or eliminating them entirely. Look—” he pointed—“that spiral galaxy has been gravitationally sequestered. See how its nucleus contracts and releases its energy. We call this a quasar, but it is only a name. We do not understand what is actually happening.”
Pūrna pointed with a finger toward the unmoving light. “That spiral galaxy is roughly 3,800,000 light-years distant from us. It was once comprised of one hundred billion stable stars—but I fear that most have already been lost. Here in Yāma, we have already lost ten billion such galaxies.”
Prince Siddhārtha stood in silence, looking out on that glorious light of death.
“Maudgalyayana, we should transport the prince to Tuṣita as quickly as possible,” Pūrna said quietly.
“Yes. I’m sure that Brahmā awaits his arrival.” Maudgalyayana turned to Mahākāśyapa beside him. “Make for Tuṣita with all haste. We’ll be traveling from coordinates 713.081 to 429.993 . . . through imaginary space, but I don’t think that can be avoided.”
“Is there a particular danger in keeping to normal space?” Mahākāśyapa inquired.
“Yes. I’ve received word that slight warping has been detected in the vicinity of coordinates 799.341. If this should happen to be a typical relativity-theory gravitational field I see no problem, but if it is an engineered field, going there would be tantamount to plunging headfirst into the abyss.”
Mahākāśyapa raised an eyebrow. “Does their reach already extend so far?”
“One can never be sure with that phantasmagoric lot,” Maudgalyayana spat in a tone most unbecoming an enlightened holy man.
The bubble that held them passed through the blackness of space like a shooting star.
Maudgalyayana and the three other monks stood still, hardly seeming even to breathe. Alone, Prince Siddhārtha turned to watch the brilliant veil of light recede behind them into the distance.
Three million eight hundred thousand light-years.
Whatever he was seeing there at this moment was probably already long gone at its point of origin. The brightness that reached him now was nothing but an avatar—the temporary likeness of what was in reality, nothing. Powerful radiation would soon reach the nearer regions of space, bringing true death to the darkness around them.