Melodic, anthemic, majestic

Across the cosmos we fled, the stars of a million night skies dusting our vision, as if we cast our gaze on the very Shores of Eternity.

Surreal, stirring, though distant and cold their wash of light, would our future unfold here as nothing more than Ambrosia in Exile, our lives saved, but no home to be found again, pilgrims banished? How had it come to this? Was the story ever to be told among souls other than this ragged band of refugees?

We had dwelt blissful yet ignorant under the Twilight of Cassiopeia, our thoughts rarely turning outwards, an insular people, willing to be forgotten by the galaxy. Perhaps that was the seed of our fall. Though the shadow of an Empire had been our aegis, we were blind, we chose to overlook the unravelling threads culminating in the destroyer of worlds being revealed. Our wilful ignorance provided a cushion of delusion that was violently razed by the Ascension of Erebos. Chaos, death, madness, the perishing of uncountable billions!! What words can carry the weight of that story? An evil, incomprehensible in its vastness, but personified in one person...a man?...perhaps. The nameless one, a wraith of no lineage, a faceless magician of shadows.

Battered, oppressed, counting our naked lives as enough, we embarked on those ships we could steal from the waves of the pillagers. We fled. There was no time to map a course. How many made it? How many could not outrun the vultures and were burnt as silent twinkles in the abyss? How many jumped out of hyperspace, unplotted courses plunging them into the furnace and gravity of suns? Who could tell? Upon this field of tears I stood, we stood, and grieved the sack of a universe.

When night swallowed us, when the shadows lost even the pretense of friendship, when our very voice was within a moment of being extinguished, it was then some saw the truth: that All is lost but hope. In that absolute darkness, a fragile spark was found still glimmering, a Praeludium to redemption.

"When fate is not endured, but made. When destiny is not encountered, but written.

These choices are the moments that decide the course of worlds".

The feeling swirled through us, there would be no saviour from the outside...but....if we looked within, if we fanned the spark into a flame, and the flame into a furnace, a Fate Maker would emerge from the growing resolve to push back against the destroyer, that we could look into the abyss and stand. And so it was. There stood forth some few, who committed to venture even to the heart of the Citadel of the Dark Enchanter. Of those, some, many, most were caught, suffered, died terribly. But we have had victories, small, yes, but we accept even a tsunami starts as barely a swell on the surface of deep oceans.

Will there be a Requiem for Dawn? Will our night fall on its own pyre and the day break as a phoenix in its stead, full and glorious? What is written for the future? We know this: in our hearts we carry immortality. There is an unquenchable essence that will help us stand. We speak of this to each other. We encourage our faltering comrades. We have a name for this fire - Invictus Illumina. May it guide our resistance. May the unconquerable light bring us through to Worlds Beyond.