Prologue to Suns of the End

In the end, even the stars withered and died. Space was bleak empty blackness, save for a few suns kept alive by human stubbornness. Around these last vestiges of cosmic life, men and women waged war for shreds of glory and honor.

I, the last, saw much of this, but did not understand my part in the tale until the whole was told to me by Ondranapashta. Hear now, as that august sage told the first part of the tale to me. Wise beyond the conceits of even the gods, Ondranapashta’s vision spanned the many layers of the cosmos. He had seen the great penultimate war that brought the end of many stars and gods alike. He had witnessed the deaths of millions upon millions in the ravenous maw of that all-consuming conflict.

I asked him to describe the war at length, but he did not stir from his seat on the cold rock. He said that the tale of the war between the Vedalan and Darsatlan, as profound as it was, was not what I needed to hear. The chronicle of that war had been told and retold many times before in the turning ages of the cosmos. The deepest roots of my being knew it well enough. What was of real import and consequence were the struggles and conflicts that happened many years after that war. As I listened, he began his tale.

Now, as I stand by the dim ember of the only remaining star, I will tell you this final story of Man.

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