As spoken in the deepening arc of Syll’tar, Comet of Orbit 𝛥874-𝙷
I no longer listen to the stars.
Their whispers are faint now, broken in the long pull of time. The auric currents that once hummed like symphonies through my crystalline shell have quieted. My memory, once the longest tether in this quadrant of the spiral, frays like a snow-thread in stellar wind.
But there is one memory I will never lose.
One moment I will carry, even when my core splits and my bones become dust and metal, circling the skies of Domain.
I remember Null Flare.
I remember the end of Lyrax.
The battlefield was everywhere space, surface, idea. It sang with entropy. Stars dimmed in fear. Others pulsed their hearts faster, trying to illuminate what could not be understood. Lyrax burned across existence like a broken god crowned with nightmare. At his side, Amatrix carving the brave into history with each turn of her void-forged blade.
And yet they came.
From planets. From ships. From astral folds and forgotten spells. Billions rose. Some in body. Some in soul. All with purpose.
Even I, old as I am, carried signal and vibration from Kyne s- a whisper I caught in my passing, a code cast like a prayer. I carried it, not knowing what it meant. Only that it must reach someone.
It did.
The Quant arrived. The flame of Earth. Captain William Joseph at the helm, wounded, resolute. The final push began. Blood, metal, data, song - all wove into war.
And then
Carceron.
No herald. No flare. Only arrival.
Not like a warrior. Like a correction.
He did not run. He walked.
He did not yell. He breathed judgment.
I watched him and Lyrax clash.
Each movement wrote gravity.
Each parry bent time.
And then - the strike.
The Lance driven not into flesh, but into the very eye of Lyrax, where his vision had once turned empires to ash. The Lance paused - just a crucial moment. The universe inhaled. Perhaps it remembered a poem, once etched in nebulae, before cruelty was named.
And then it plunged.
Lyrax screamed.
Stars rejoiced.
Angels - yes, real ones, older than I - wept tears of gold across the void.
He was undone.
Not erased.
Not silenced.
Just… ended.
They say his body was claimed - by something radiant, born of a dying supernova, stitched with the memory of an escaped black hole. I do not know. I could no longer see.
But I remember.
I remember how one billion stars dimmed and flared in unison.
I remember how entire worlds sang.
I remember how hope became a frequency again.
Not a dream. A measurable force.
They tell stories now, across the quiet reaches, about me.
About how Syll’tar, the Memory Tail, carried the signal.
How I circled the battlefield.
How I wept photons from my tail like stardust tears.
They say I was a herald.
That I am a relic of victory.
That I listened when no one else could.
And I who forget almost everything now - I believe them.
One day I will warm. I will fracture.
My body will scatter, join the ring-halos of Domain, where children play and elders speak in hush about the day evil ended.
But even then
some part of me will remember.