Books are good, books are always good. - Pentagathusosaurus rex
My eyes open.
The night sky wheels by overhead, the softly glittering stars like a scattering of diamonds strewn haphazardly across a stretched bolt of midnight black cloth. I lie, face up on the cold ground. I can feel the chill which has begun to set deep within my mortal shell. I struggle to shift.
My eyes close.
Before our arrival, there was little of note on this world. Ferocious storms wracked the land, leaving nothing but jutting outcrops of bare rock, torn forth from the treacherous dark oceans. Great winged beasts ruled the sky, warring amongst themselves and preying upon the weak, lesser creatures which could only manage to eke out a pitiful existence in this inhospitable landscape. Beneath them dwelled the many, varied denizens of the roiling seas, which, dangerous though they were, bore a far greater variety of life, including some, though not many, who could challenge the primacy of the Sky-Lords.
It was not naturally a world upon which to properly nurture life, the true calling of my kind.
We came here in scattered groups, driven across the breadth of creation, seeking a haven after our home was destroyed by the Terrors in the Void. Finding this rocky, storm-lashed world, my people settled upon it, using the faintest touches of our power to calm the fierce gales, to shape this new world to our liking. Needs must we were careful and selective in the way we unleashed the words of creation. Finally, we hid in the secluded reaches of this newly becalmed world and granted enlightenment to but a few of the endemic species.
For countless rotations of the stars, our creation existed in peace, as we slowly but surely guided it into prosperity.
Our downfall was swift, sudden and entirely predictable.
As the millennia rolled on and on, the gathered magics we had worked swelled ever greater.
The Terrors came once more, and this time there would be no escape.
My eyes open again.
The night sky still wheels by overhead, the softly glittering stars like miniscule needlepoints piercing a stretched bolt of midnight black cloth. I lie, face up on the cold ground. I can feel the chill which has set deep within my ragged mortal shell. Lifeblood, brilliantly shimmering in the pale starlight seeps into the alabaster snow beneath my form. I struggle to shift.
My eyes close once more.
I cannot remember.
I hear a sound, a deep reverberating growl which causes the very ground beneath me to shake and quiver. Something approaches.
One of them, swollen with the sheer power it has absorbed from my brethren, the ones it has already hunted, brought down and consumed. The ground trembles. The air shivers. Reality bends around it as all the works of my people react to the presence of this thing which is anathema to us.
I won’t let this thing take my power for itself, for I have seen the things these creatures do with their prey, the torturous agonies they inflict.
My eyes open, one final time.
The night sky wheels by overhead, the softly glittering stars like a host of fell eyes glinting in the darkness. I lie, face up on the cold ground. I can feel the chill which has finally set deep within what shreds remain of my mortal shell. The fire of my life seems all but stolen away.
I intone, the words of creation spilling forth from the spirit within my ruined form. The predator growls once more, and attempts to move closer, but it cannot, buffeted now by waves of force which surround my failing shell.
My eyes fix upon a distant star, high above in the night sky. Home, perhaps? It pleases me to think so. A place of love, light and laughter, an unreckonable span of time ago.
I will give this world our light.
The words pour out in an ever greater torrent of creation as all I am, all my being, is projected up into the cold northern sky. There is a blinding flash, and years of the world roll by in an instant. The world-shaping energy crackles and tears at the very air around and above me as the words rip into the sky. The predator shies back, waiting for me to expend the last of my strength. It wants to feast.
I will not let it.
With one final invocation, silence falls, like the pale grey ash which drifts down and settles on the snow.
My mortal shell is gone, only a shimmering pool of lifeblood left behind to mark its presence.
I am free.
From above, the tattered remnants of my spirit beholds the predator below, sees the ephemeral fangs it bears, dripping with gore and power. Its eyes blaze with a dark hunger, but it cannot understand me now. I can see in its eyes how it perceives me now, a glimmering ribbon of pale light, wavering and flickering in the night sky. Eventually, it turns away in defeat, its great shaggy head dropping as the excitement of the hunt leaves it. It pads away, long, sinuous, bladed tail flicking despondently as it goes.
I am free.
I am light.
My people may be gone, destroyed by the Terrors from the Void, but I remain. I alone of my kind, endure. My consciousness exists now in the so-called northern lights. I have seen many an age of this world come and go, but I will always be there, in the night, watching.
Giving you the aurora.
Giving you our light.
You shoot awake, the cold sweat dripping down your neck, your heartbeat echoing in your mind. You feel the urge to look out of your tent or building and, as you do, you see a bright flash of light emanating from the north of the island. Emerging from this light is a ship plummeting towards the ground, wisps of flame and smoke trailing from it. You watch it as it falls, almost in slow motion, until with a large, fiery explosion, it makes impact with the ground. Whether or not your better judgment agrees, you feel that you should investigate it...
The serpent breathes
Out into infinities
Its bloodless sangunity
That winds between pines and the moon in the sky
The dancer shines
On upward and heaven-bound
Her shimmering world abounds
Nothing but dancing: no smile, tear, or sigh
The trapped god strains
On mocking bright prison bars
Caught between salt and stars
Wrapped in auroras that ravel and tie
The ink it flows
White-greens and icy blues,
Teals, pinks, a thousand hues,
Writing its truth, obfuscation, and lie
The Northern Lights are,
A consequence, nothing more,
Of gas, sun, an earthly core,
And still! They are myriads
And still delight I.