He was the last man.
He was beyond time and space. The great quantum functions which encompassed the Universe slid past him like a vast, turbulent river, and his eyes were filled with the gray light against which all phenomena are shadows.
Time wore away, unmarked.
And then—
There was a box, drifting in space, tetrahedral, clear-walled.
From around an impossible corner a human entered the box. He sat in a battered, fragile craft which tumbled through space. A rope was wrapped around his waist, and he was dressed in treated animal skins. He was gaunt, encrusted in filth, his skin ravaged by frost.
He stared out at the stars, astonished.
Spacetime-fire erupted into the box, finally engulfing the little craft.
Something had changed. History had resumed.
Michael Poole’s extended awareness stirred.
-Ring, Ch. 14