outsinging the endsinger

[gumviolet]

At the very edge of the universe, at a place where emotion shapes reality, a long figure stands atop the back of an enemy-turned-dragon, atop a shining golden sigil. Her enemy is despair itself given form, constantly weeping liquid sorrow.

And yet, hope shines forth from her breast – and as she speaks, a dawn’s first rays pierce the depths of depression.

Zenos is the first to feel it – an energy indescribable and warm, like he has never felt before. The Ea next, non-corporeal forms vibrating as dynamis and aether suffuses through the wasteland of Ultima Thule.
The Omicron believe it first to be an error in their instrumentation, before they feel the surge of energy running through their circuitry. The dragons lift their heads to the Song that rings down to their bones, and in a technological marvel of a ship, the only living beings for a million, million malms shiver.

It is the breath of spring, of surfacing from the waves, the cry of a newborn, a rallying yell. You are not alone. You are loved.

It’s a tale of loss, of fire, and faith. It’s a promise that in dark you will not stay, that you will forge ahead – to the end. It’s knowing that you have the strength to take another step, and it is said with the conviction of thousands of voices.

Hades trembles at the weight of it; he cannot help it. But Hythlodaeus is there, entwining their hands and holding him. Not alone. No more loneliness.

They look at her, this beaten and battered shadow of a once-dear friend. And see the golden fire of Azem’s halo upon her brow, the bones of granite and shining heart that only every beat for the good of Eitherys, who has touched the lives of others and been touched in return.

Loved, and beloved, as Azem should always be.

And in the face of this chosen forgiveness, chosen kindness, chosen love, the Endsinger cannot stand. The prayers of a planet carried here erode away Meteion’s corrupted form, leaving only the fluttering form of Hermes’ starbird.

“It’s time to go, dear friend.” Hythlodaeus says it gently, wiping a stray tear from Hades’ face. He only nods, not trusting his voice. The two ancients exhale, and let themselves fade back to slumber. Their time is over now. The world is in safe hands.