Once, the songs of the stars rang and rebounded among the whole of creation. Now, only echoes remain, a fading glimmer of the glorious beings from whence they came.

Where have they all gone? I hear them still, but see them not.

I hear their songs among the crumbling ruins of broken worlds.

I hear them in empty skies and in dried up seas.

A faint whisper, the merest reminder of what once was, sounds in the quiet hollows and crags left after creation cracked.

I remember it well. The void shuddered, reality split, and impossibilities beyond the imagining of mortals and gods alike streamed through, writhing and twisting and rending, rending, rending.

Rending the living. Rending the dead. And rending all that was neither.

Finally rending themselves.

All witnessed by all, from the smallest children playing in fields to the highest lords in their palaces. Gods in their worlds of shimmering fire and insects in their burrows all beheld the end that came, a solemn dread at the coming doom stealing over their hearts.

Many fought the incursion from beyond. None who did survived. They are beyond death now, shredded and ruined and left less than the dust, less than dust can only dread becoming.

Mere nothing.

How I escaped, I know not. I have long wandered, senseless, for this ruin brooks no sensibility, it seems. My mind and soul alike are a turmoil embroiled in the everlasting conflict between order and chaos.

As I wander the ruin around me, the shattered remnants of all creation, I marvel that chaos has won all fronts but one—that of my own soul.

But I wonder if even my being will not lose in the end. The mightiest gods could not withstand it. How, then, could I?

How could I become more than our greatest were?

How indeed? Let me know your ideas in the comments! Also, any shares or likes or whatever would be much appreciated. All proceeds go toward restoring the shattered ruin of that one reality that existed that one time. Really.