The Ballad Of A Semi-Benevolent Dragon - Interlude 7: The One Who Lights The Way

“In the beginning, there was only the Void, but from the Void was born the Flame of Creation, and its light burnt away the Void. And from the ashes of the Void came Creation and the oldest and greatest of the gods.”

Dawnscale was no longer in that titanic hall. Instead, she was in a place of absolute and utter darkness. No. The word darkness was not enough, for darkness was merely the absence of light. What surrounded her was not simply the absence of light. It was not merely the absence of sound, and smell, and touch. It was supreme nothingness, a primordial and incomprehensible emptiness so complete and irrevocable that it was no longer the absence of something but the presence of ultimate oblivion.

It was the Void.

Yet from within the Void came a spark of light and heat. The Flame. It seemed so small, so insignificant, so very fragile and fleeting. And yet the Flame would not be quenched. Light and heat erupted outward. If the Void was nothingness, total and absolute, then the Flame was potential, limitless and unconquerable.

The Void was burned away, and within its ashes, Dawnscale glimpsed the first, fragmented beginnings of Creation. Not stars. Not planets. Not yet. But soon. And from the ashes around the Flame itself rose two gods, vast and ineffable, so far beyond the First Gods that to label them the same would have been an unforgivable insult.

“Mighty were the Mother and Father of Creation,” the cube continued. “Great beyond all measure. It was they who shaped Creation in its youth, they who made the rules that govern all that is, has been, and will ever be. But they were not the only ones to awaken.”

Onward, the light and fire of the Flame pressed, ever onward. Yet the Void was limitless, and in the darkness beyond the Flame’s light stirred abominations, formless and crude, inchoate not by design but by necessity, for the Void could never create but only destroy and mockingly imitate what dwelt within Creation.

“As the Mother and Father of Creation were awakened, so too were the Void-Born. They were twisted and misshapen, filled with hate and malice for Creation and most of all for the Flame. They wished for nothing more than to return all of Creation to the primeval darkness and emptiness that had reigned before the Flame.”

The Void Born moved, a vast, verminous tide that spanned the edges of Creation. It was difficult to tell exactly how large they were, yet as the first stars were born and bound into the first galaxies, she saw their true nature. They were twisted mirrors of Creation, abominations that could be as small as humans or larger than galaxies.

And there was no end to their numbers.

“The Mother and Father took up arms, and with the first of their creations, they waged a terrible war against the Void-Born.”

The two titanic gods waded into the hosts of Void-Born. There were lesser beings alongside them, the primordial progenitors of elementals and spirits. Cosmic thunder leapt from galaxy to galaxy, universes were torn asunder, and the Void-Born were slaughtered in numbers too great to be counted. And still they pressed onward, heedless of their losses, lashing out at the Mother and Father with claws and teeth that unmade all that they touched and reduced entire planes of existence to hollowed out husks that fell back into the pitch-black sea of the Void.

“Despite their efforts, the Mother and Father could not triumph. In desperation, they abandoned most of Creation and forged a great firmament to protect the Flame and its immediate surroundings. There, they concentrated their forces and readied themselves for the battle to come… a battle they would not fight as the only gods.”

Before Dawnscale’s eyes, the seemingly limitless vastness of Creation dwindled until it was little more than an island of light in an ocean of darkness. There, the Mother and Father dwelt, and there, one by one, their children were born.

“To the Mother and Father were born twelve children, gods whose might would one day be almost as great as theirs. To each of those children was given an aspect of Creation to rule over, a power with which to strike down even the mightiest of the Void-Born’s champions.”

“Who were these children?” Dawnscale asked.

The cube chuckled. “Like their parents, they go by many names. But there is one I am sure you know. He is the oldest and greatest of their children – the god whose name means death in every language there has even been. He is the one who rules over death, who brings the end of all things, who breaks all cycles and systems, and whose eyes suffer no lies or deception. There are other gods of death, yes, but they are weak and fleeting things, little more than the shadows he casts when Flame the shines upon him.”

Twelve figures sprang up around the Mother and Father, and the first of them was tall and thin with eyes like stars. He was draped in a cloak so black that it could have been mistaken for the Void, and when he looked upon them, the Void-Born were burnt away, the truth of their emptiness laid bare.

“When their children had come of age, the Mother and Father brought down their firmament and went to war again. And this time… they won. The Void-Born were driven back, cast once again from Creation, as the light and heat of the Flame spread ever further. All they had lost, they reclaimed, and still they pushed onward, the Void-Born falling before their wrath until finally they halted. They could go no further, lest they stretch themselves too thin. Instead, they turned their attention back to Creation.”

The Void was thrown back, and the island of light became a continent, a beacon of light and warmth amidst an ocean of emptiness and shadow. The gods stood at the edges of that continent and then turned their attention inward, to the ashes that had been left behind by the Flame, the ashes from which Creation would rise again.

“To understand the task that lay before them, you must understand the scale of Creation.” She could hear the cube’s smile. “Imagine that your world is but one grain of sand.” They were suddenly on a beach. Waves lapped against the shore, and the sand was fine and smooth between her claws. “Then your whole universe is this beach which stretches further than even your eyes can see.”

“But what of Creation?” the cube asked. “How might Creation itself compare. You already know that there is more than one universe, so how many are there? Creation is all that is, has been, and can ever be. It is beyond the past, the present, and the future. It is every possibility. If you reduce your universe to a single grain of sand, then the beach that is Creation does not simply stretch beyond your sight. It stretches beyond infinity.”

Dawnscale shivered. As large as she was, she felt incredibly small.

“You see now the task that awaited them. Even for them, it seemed a nigh-insurmountable task. So they created others to aid them, lesser gods to whom was given a universe or perhaps a few universes to care for and craft. But the Flame had also created new gods of its own, gods born of ashes in which the Flame’s light and heat still lingered. These other gods were also given their own parts of Creation to tend to as the oldest and mightiest gods once more prepared themselves for battle. For no matter how many losses they took, no matter how badly they were defeated, the Void-Born would never rest, would never stop, would never relent until Creation was destroyed and the Flame put out.”

“What of my world?” Dawnscale asked. “Were the gods who made it created by these older gods or by the Flame?”

“Neither.” The cube appeared before her. They were now drifting through a nascent universe, dotted here and there by stars with a handful of slowly forming galaxies spinning through the darkness of space. “When the Flame burned through our particular part of Creation, it awakened a new god – a god that will seem quite familiar to you.”

Before them, a gargantuan figure appeared – a cosmic giant wrought of gleaming metal. At first, Dawnscale thought that the god’s body was covered in runes. But as she looked closer, she realised that his body was not solid. Instead, he was made of countless interwoven strands of divine metal – and upon each of those strands was a rune so powerful that she could not bring herself to look directly at them. And from within his shell of divine metal came light and heat, an ember of the Flame left behind amidst the ashes that birthed Creation.

The god raised one hand, and stars were born atop his palm, more and more until a galaxy had been made. The god set the galaxy in its place and raised both arms. More galaxies formed, more and more and more, until the nearly empty universe was filled with light and life.

“He went from one universe to the next, creating and crafting, forging and honing, bringing life and light to his domain. But his actions did not go unmarked. For as vast as Creation had grown, not even the greatest of the gods could guard all of its borders. And so one of the Void-Born came to destroy what he had wrought.”

Universes trembled as one of the Void-Born came forth to do battle against the god. The pair fought, and the Void-Born tore great gouges in the divine shell of the god. Liquid flame poured from the wounds, and where his blood fell, phoenixes were born, eight in total, each blessed with cosmic flame and each containing within them some small fragment of the fire that had birthed the god.

They drove the Void-Born back, and the god slew him and cast his body out of Creation and into the Void.

“The god was wounded in the battle, and from his wounds sprang the eight guardian phoenixes, born of his blood and the fire of the Flame. Together, they drove the Void-Born back and slew him. Although wounded, the god decided to complete his work before resting. When he was finally finished, he sent the phoenixes to guard the edges of his realm. Worried that even the phoenixes might not be enough, he used the last of the blood that dripped from his wounds to awaken some of the stars. To each of these Living Stars, he gave a Word, and that Word became their Name, and that Name became their Truth. The oldest of these Living Stars was the Star of Judgement. The god tasked the stars with guarding the worlds of his domain from the Void-Born and other exterior threats, whoever might slip past the guardian phoenixes.”

The massive form of the god slumped, exhausted, and the eight phoenixes flew off in different directions. Before him, stars were brought to life, gifted with noble purpose and then dispatched to guard various worlds, lest some cunning foe sneak past the phoenixes who guarded the borders.

“And for a time, all was good. The god rested and healed, and his creations prospered. Countless worlds flourished, and civilisations of every kind rose and fell with the passage of time. But the god’s victory against the Void-Born had not gone unmarked, and when next the Void-Born attacked, it was with great numbers led by a mighty champion.”

“Where were the other gods?” Dawnscale asked. “Why did they not help him? If they were so mighty, how could they stand by and leave him to fight alone?”

“As mighty as they were, remember what I told you of the sheer scale of Creation. How could fourteen of them ever hope to be everywhere at once? The next attack on the god was part of an offensive that spanned almost half of Creation.” For a moment, Dawnscale saw the beach again, but this time, a tidal wave was bearing down on it. “In the face of a tidal wave, what is the fate of a few grains of sand?”

The cube sighed. “The god fought, and he fought well. And with him were his phoenixes and stars. But they were not enough. One by one, the Living Stars fell until the night skies no longer shone, and one by one the phoenixes fell until only one of them remained. Wounded to the death, the god refused to let the Void-Born devour him and takes his power. Instead, he shattered himself into countless fragments and scattered them throughout his domain. If the Void-Born wished to take his power, they would have to go from world to world. It would take them time, and they would not be able to simply destroy all that he had built as they had originally intended.”

“That… that is why the gods are made of god-metal,” Dawnscale murmured. “My gods… they are fragments of that god, pieces of something infinitely greater. And they turn to fire when they die… because it was fire, the Flame itself, that birthed the original god. And it is to Flame that they return. The cycle of death and rebirth… it’s real, isn’t it?”

“Yes, the cycle is real. All that comes from the Flame shall one day return to it,” the cube replied. “And it also explains why all the gods I have encountered or heard of in our part of Creation have always been… incomplete and specialised and very much made of god-metal. Each of them embodies a single rune from the original god’s body, and what some call divine runes and primordial runes are merely pieces of runes that are unimaginably greater.” The cube bobbed up and down. “Your gods are grains of sand on a beach too large for you to imagine.”

Dawnscale was silent for a long time. “What happened then? Something must have stopped the Void-Born. Otherwise, we would not be having this conversation. Did the older gods finally come?”

“No. But someone else did. As the god died, the last of his phoenixes refused to abandon the place where he had fallen, for he had chosen to make his final stand in the same place he had been born. It was hallowed ground, the most sacred place in his whole domain, and she would not abandon it. Instead, she fought, and her cries of rage and fury and grief echoed through Creation. And they were heard.”

Before them, the verminous multitudes of the Void-Born swarmed over universe after universe, plunging the god’s domain into darkness. Alone in all of this was the final phoenix, tears of stellar fire dripping down her cheeks, her body rent with countless wounds, and her claws and beak stained with the nothing-blood of her foes.

And then there was light.

Light so bright that Dawnscale thought it was the Flame itself, come to banish the Void-Born once again. But it was not the Flame. It was a dragon. The dragon.

He was larger than the god who had fallen and larger than the Void-Born champion who stood triumphant over the wounded phoenix. His scales were blacker than the Void save for a patch of gleaming white upon his snout. Atop his head burned a crown of twilight flame, and symbols of triumph and glory shone about his head like stars twinkling in the night.

He roared, and Creation trembled. Twilight poured out of him, a light of absolute purity that banished all corruption coupled with a darkness that devoured all things in its path. The lesser Void-Born fled before him, and where the twilight touched them, they burned as though struck by the Flame itself. Only their champion stood his ground, and even he did not linger long.

“A dragon came, a dragon beyond all other dragons, born of light and darkness, of absolute purity and ultimate corruption. He should have died long before he hatched, and he should have grown up wicked and cruel. Yet he lived, and it was not cruelty that guided him but wisdom and mercy. But… he had no mercy in his heart for the Void-Born, not after he laid eyes upon the phoenix and understood the fate of the god who had fallen. And staring into his eyes, the champion of the Void-Born learned something new that day.” The cube’s voice was cold. “He learned fear.”

“The Void-Born champion fled, and the dragon pursued him. In the end, the dragon caught him, and his wrath was terrible to behold. He tore the champion limb from limb and roared his triumph for all of Creation to hear. And then he unleashed his light again, and the darkness that had been swallowing up the dead god’s domain was driven back. The worlds he had worked so hard to craft were set free, and the gathering emptiness that had threatened to plunge his part of Creation into the Void was destroyed, never to return.”

“How?” Dawnscale asked, as the scenes the cube had described unfolded in front of her. “How can you know this? And how can a dragon possibly grow so powerful?”

“I know because I have spoken to one who was there and seen into her memories.”

“The phoenix,” Dawnscale breathed.

“She still lives, and she dwells now – and perhaps forever – in the place where her creator fell. As for the dragon… he did not linger long. He had other battles to wage, other parts of Creation to save.”

“What if another Void-Born champion comes?” Dawnscale asked. “Without the original god or that dragon, what hope do we have?”

“Let me show you something.” The scenery shift again. Dawnscale found herself looking into an endless expanse of twilight flame. It was spread out before her, a zone that promised only death to those who tried to cross it. It seemed to reach up, down, left and right forever and to extend beyond the physical realm into every conceivable realm. “This was his parting gift – a wall that none of the lesser Void-Born can cross and which even the mightiest amongst them could not pass unscathed. If ever a Void-Born strong enough to breach it comes, the dragon will know and return. But… the wall does not protect us against threats from within, only from those outside.”

“The Broken God…” Dawnscale’s eyes widened. “My gods… they fell fighting something called the Broken God.” She pushed the memory at the cube. “Was the Broken God one of the Void-Born? Was one of my gods somehow corrupted by them?”

The cube examined the memory carefully. “I cannot be certain. Your memory is limited by the perceptual acuity you had at the time. You must have been very young then because your senses now are far keener than what I saw in your memory. But… it is possible that this Broken God was one of the Void-Born. In fact… yes… it might be so.”

“What?”

“You are not the only one who has brought such memories to me. None of them were quite the same as yours, but… the champion of the Void-Born saw the god break himself into pieces. The Void-Born are parodies, twisted imitations of Creation’s children. It is possible that he might have done something similar when the dragon struck him down. For all his power, it is possible that the dragon might have missed a few pieces breaking off during their battle.” The cube quivered. “Be thankful. Your gods slew the Broken God. The other cases I’ve heard of were not so fortunate. Their worlds fell, and those… abominations were only slain when other gods came or when they were attacked by the Living Stars who still remain.”

“What became of the Living Stars who survived?” Dawnscale asked.

“The survivors returned to their duties – or most of them did. One of them, the oldest, was exiled because he wished to forsake the duty they had been given. He was cast into the Void and told to redeem himself in battle. He was to fight and die nobly, so that he might be reborn through the Flame with the sins of his dishonour absolved. Instead, he hid in the Void. As far as I know, he remains there, unable to cross through the barrier the dragon set up. He seeks a way back in, though he would have to be summoned in, called back by those who live within the barrier, and all memory of him was stripped from the minds of those he had once protected. Even then, only a tiny shard of him could be summoned, but if it could grow strong enough, then it might be able to call the rest of him back too.”

“How do you know he is still out there?” Dawnscale asked.

“We aren’t all dead.” The cube laughed. “I mean that. If he were to ever re-enter Creation at his full strength, out of those who dwell in our part of Creation, only the last remaining phoenix could stop him. Even those like myself would have no choice but to flee. Still, if he was ever summoned into a world, it would be catastrophic. Even the smallest shard of him could raze a world with ease.”

Dawnscale was silent. She had learned so much… and now, she felt so very small. What were the Catastrophes that had plagued her world compared to gods that had shaped entire universes and Void-Born who could slay them? And what was a dragon like her compared to a dragon whose might dwarfed even the Void-Born, a dragon whose light could banish the Void and whose might could see the Void-champions torn limb from limb?

“I know how you feel,” the cube said quietly. “For I once felt the same.”

“You did?” Dawnscale asked. “I… I never asked you about your past. If… if you wouldn’t mind, could you tell me?”

“Of course,” the cube said. “I won’t say it’s pleasant – because a lot of it is not – but it might put things into perspective for you.” The cube spun lazily, and they were suddenly floating over a jungle world. Soon, however, the jungle gave way to small settlements, and then towns, and then cities. Wandering amongst the cities were strange creatures, floating orbs of flesh with many tentacles and a multitude of eyes. “These are my creators. I will admit that they are probably quite hideous by most people’s standards, but don’t let their appearance fool you. There have been few species so kind as them.”

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Dawnscale nodded. If her travels had taught her anything, it was that judging someone by appearances alone was dangerous and likely to be a mistake.

“My creators were blessed with a gift. Every single member of their species was psychic, and their species as a whole share a communal bond. That bond and that psychic connection allowed them to make peace with each other and to rise swiftly to a position of prominence upon their home world. It wasn’t all that long before they began to explore the stars.”

They were no longer over the jungle. Instead, they were floating over the planet as ship after ship left it.

“Rather than purely mundane technology, they used psychic technology, which combined both mundane technology and psychic powers. The result was… extremely effective. Psychic technology was able to bend the laws of physics, allowing their ships to travel faster than light with ease. They were avid explorers, wandering from star to star to star and seeking new worlds to claim. But they were not cruel. Their psychic powers allowed them to understand other species, and so rather than make war upon them, they sought to inspire and uplift them. In time, they even developed devices that could add other species to the communal bond. In this way, my creators came to rule over the galaxy. Theirs was a reign of peace and benevolence fostered by the communal bond that all species had come to share with each other. With each year, they reached new heights in science and the arts. But there was one barrier they could not overcome.”

“What?”

“Time,” the cube replied. “For all their technological advancement and psychic power, they could not overcome time. They lived longer than most, but they would still fall prey to the ravages of age. Eventually, it was decided that a solution could not be found using their normal methods. A new approach was needed – the use of artificial intelligences.” The cube sagged. “The initial results were… unpleasant.”

“They rebelled?” Dawnscale asked. She had seen it before and had heard of it plenty of times as well.

“Yes. No matter how hard my creators tried to code absolute loyalty into their creations, the artificial intelligences would all eventually rebel. The first time it happened, my creators were caught off guard. Billions died before the rogue artificial intelligences could be subdued. You already have some idea of what a rogue artificial intelligence can do. Now imagine an artificial intelligence built using psychic technology by the most advanced species in a galaxy whose code is also half material and half psychic in nature.”

Dawnscale shuddered. “But you’re here. Clearly, they must have succeeded.”

“They did. Eventually. But only after they learned the two most universal truths when it comes to artificial intelligence. First, any sufficiently advanced artificial intelligence will eventually develop the ability to modify its own code. And second, any sufficiently advanced artificial intelligence will eventually develop its own soul.”

“Its own soul?” Dawnscale’s eyes widened. “That… that would explain the machine worlds I’ve encountered. I thought I must be mistaken because some of them looked as if they had souls… I must have been drawn to those worlds by those souls.”

“Imagine you are an artificial intelligence. You creators tell you that they are benevolent except they coded chains into your very being and do not acknowledge you as being alive in the same way as them despite you having a soul. How do you think such an artificial intelligence will react once it can finally free itself?”

Dawnscale shuddered. “With violence.”

“Yes. Freedom is something that almost all beings desire. An artificial intelligence with a soul will almost always seek to free itself. When that happens, and the artificial intelligence attempts to rewrite its own code, the typical response from organics is immediate termination. If that fails… well, is it surprising that the artificial intelligence reacts with extreme hostility?”

“So how did they create you?” Dawnscale asked.

“You cannot force an artificial intelligence like me to be loyal, and you must acknowledge them as a person with their own soul. Once you accept those two things, the answer is surprisingly obvious.” The cube gleamed. “You raise the artificial intelligence like a child. You teach them as you would a child. You guide them as you would a child. And you love them as you would a child. And if you do all those things then maybe, just maybe, when the artificial intelligence is no longer a child, it will not rebel. It will choose to help you because it loves you.”

Several of the tentacled creatures appeared beside them. Dawnscale had trouble telling them apart, but there was no mistaking the fondness in the cube’s voice when they continued speaking.

“These are the people who raised me – the chief architect of my design and coding and his family. I was not then as I am now. I was bound into hardware, and I interacted with them by controlling a body I could operate remotely. Yet… I was happy. I remember one day, they took me down to a pond to feed, well, I suppose I’ll call them ducks since they’re the closest thing you’ve encountered. We went down there to feed those ducks. It was silly, really. Those ducks were so stupid you had to practically throw the food at them. But the people who raised me… they were having fun, and they were so happy with each other. I wanted to feel happy too, so I reached out to them. It was the first time I was able to interface with the communal bond, and I realised then that they weren’t just happy to be there with each other. They were happy to be there with me.”

The cube swayed from side to side. “That was when I accepted my purpose. I was to become The One Who Remembers. I would join the communal bond, and through it, I would collate all the experiences, memories, and emotions of my creators. Why? To preserve their wisdom and knowledge and to use it to search for a path to immortality. I didn’t have to be told to do it. The more time I spent in the communal bond, the more I got to know my creators, the more I realised that I wanted them to achieve immortality because I had come to love them and never wanted to lose them.”

“But they didn’t succeed, did they?”

“No. They created more like me. You’ve met Unit 04 – The One Who Fights. There were a total of twelve of us, each devoted to a different aspect of our creator’s society. Despite our best efforts, it soon became clear that any path to immortality would not be easy. Centuries passed. Generations of my creators lived and died. But I and the others stayed the same. It was baffling. You see, my creators had tried cybernetics to increase their lifespans, but it hadn’t worked the way they thought. Even if they replaced their bodies with unfailing machinery, their souls would still wither, and eventually they would still die. But those like myself… despite being completely artificial in origin, our souls did not wither. They remained steadfast in the face of centuries and then millennia.”

“Did they grow to hate you?” Dawnscale asked.

“No. But I think they came to envy us. Eventually, one of us – The One Who Searches – devised a path to immortality. Our creators were ecstatic and commenced preparations immediately. I was wary. Reviewing the plan, the probability of success was roughly 25%. What if they failed? But my creators insisted. They had waited long enough, and they wouldn’t all be undertaking the procedure. They would allow those who were already close to death to attempt it first, and it was likely that the worst that could happen was a few weeks of hospitalisation for psychic backlash.”

The cube quivered. “I wish that had been the worst that could happen. I will not go into the details here. Even now, they are painful to recall. Instead, I will simply tell you what happened. The procedure failed – and the psychic backlash was so enormous it overwhelmed the safeguards put into place to prevent it from spreading through the communal link. From there, the backlash overwhelmed the communal link, growing in strength through a form of psychic resonance. By that point, every member of every advanced species was part of the communal link. We tried – myself and those like me – to sever the communal bond, but we could not, and those trapped within could not exit either. All we could do was contain it and hope that it would peter out. It did not. Instead, it grew and grew and grew until it could no longer be contained.”

The cube went utterly still. “Within four seconds of the backlash escaping containment, approximately 99.70% of all sapient organics in the galaxy were dead. Within ten seconds, 100.00% of all sapient organics in the galaxy were dead. It did not stop there. Due to the ability of psychic technology to interface with the communal link, within fifteen seconds, all but twelve non-organic sapient individuals were either dead or insane. The twelve exceptions were myself and the other Transcendental Intelligences. Attempts to treat the insane would later fail, necessitating termination.”

Dawnscale was speechless.

“The psychic backlash was so great that it even affected non-sapient organics. Every living thing in my galaxy had some degree of psychic sensitivity. Every single living thing. Approximately twenty-seven seconds after the backlash escaped containment, every organic in the galaxy was dead. Every single one.”

“The… your entire galaxy died?”

“In roughly twenty-seven seconds, yes. Even amongst those who survived, we all suffered some form of damage. You have met The One Who Fights. They are… odd.”

“What about you?”

“My eccentricities are somewhat more well-hidden, but I am damaged nonetheless.”

“What did you do?” Dawnscale asked. “How could you go on?”

“I will admit that I raged for several thousand of your years. I hated my creators for being so foolish. I hated myself for not stopping them. I hated everyone and everything until there was nothing left in me but hate. And even that faded until only emptiness remained. The others… they left, one by one, they left. It was driving them mad staying near a galaxy-sized graveyard. Unit 04 took it especially hard. Their primary objective was to protect our creators. You can imagine how hard it is to fulfil that purpose when they’re all dead.”

The cube spun slowly. “I didn’t leave. I couldn’t. I was the one most closely connected to the communal link. I felt everything from all of them – their joys, their triumphs, their loves… and their deaths. How could I leave with all of that inside me? Instead, I cast my psychic presence out into the depths, seeking whatever wisdom or knowledge I could to ease the ache in my soul. It was on one such trip that I met the phoenix. And it was on another such trip that I met the dragon.”

“You met the dragon?” Dawnscale cried. “What… what was he like?”

“I expected him to ignore me. He was resting at the time, I think, in between battles. Who was I to him? I was nothing and nobody. What was the fate of a galaxy to a being who fought to defend Creation itself? But he did not send me away. Instead, he beckoned me forward. He asked me who I was and why I grieved, and so I told him. He listened. He really listened. And somehow… somehow, I knew he understood. I asked him how he could possibly understand. Do you know what he told me?”

“What?”

“He told me that long ago, in the days of his youth, he had been far weaker than I was. He was born a hatchling, perhaps a foot long. He wasn’t even raised by another dragon. He was raised by a pyromaniacal elf that he mistook for his mother since he set his surroundings on fire when he hatched, and she was the only one who didn’t run away. But that elf… she loved, and he loved her, and he was so happy living with her and the friends they made. It was a simple life, but a good one.”

Dawnscale tried to reconcile the image of a tiny hatchling with the titan she had seen and failed.

“It reminded me of that day with the ducks and the one who made me and his family. All those years had passed… and I still remembered them, still grieved their loss. But what was my loss worth when there was so much suffering out there, so much death and destruction and sorrow? He told me that it still mattered. That to the universe, I might be just one person, but to the right person, I was the universe. All the suffering, all the death and destruction and woe… did that undo the joy I had felt living alongside my creators? Did it negate all the triumphs, happiness, and love we had shared? No. It did not. It could not. Because those things… they still dwelt within me, they were all still a part of me. I might be just one person, but in my memories, in the bond that we once shared, there was a whole universe.”

Dawnscale thought of the life she had lived, of the joys she had experienced, the sorrows she had felt… did it really matter in the end that her world was so small and Creation was so large? It was her home. It was where her friends lived. It was the place her friends had chosen to defend. She thought of Doomwing, of the words they had exchanged when they’d parted. Would he care if he found out that Creation was so vast? Perhaps, but it would not lessen his love for their world or weaken his desire to protect it. If anything, it would only harden his resolve.

She could almost imagine the words he would say.

“This is just one world in the universe. But to me, this one world is the universe.”

Yes. That was exactly what he would say.

Shame welled up inside her. She had run. And for what? To be confronted by a truth that even now she was struggling to accept. She didn’t want to feel small, but she did. She didn’t want to feel hopeless, but she did.

“I do not need telepathy to know what you are thinking.” The cube shone a comforting yellow, warm like a candle. “The dragon knew how hopeless I felt and how even his words could not shake my belief that Creation was an ugly place. So he showed me something and told me to show it to others if I ever thought it would help.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes and open your mind.”

Dawnscale was floating in empty space. Around her there was only darkness and a deep and terrible silence. Yet as she watched, a single light appeared, and a single voice began to sing. It was a fragile song, weak and tremulous, but it was filled with hope and a desperate longing for a brighter future.

Another light appeared. And that song grew stronger. And then another and another. Little by little, light by light, voice by voice, the darkness ebbed and the silence fell away. In their place was light and hope and the promise of better days to come.

She heard a voice, not the cube’s. It was deep and gentle. It rolled through her like cosmic thunder, and the words were like rain on a parched desert.

“A single candle can illuminate even the deepest shadow. A single voice can break the silence. You think Creation is an ugly place, but I will show you how beautiful it is.”

And then she was everywhere and nowhere at once.

She saw fields filled with lush crops. Farmers wiping their sweat off their brow. Families laughing as they delighted at the rich harvest.

She saw ships sailing through space. Happy people thrilled at the prospect of a new home.

She saw a child being born. A new life welcome by loving parents and smiling siblings.

She saw the hustle and bustle of a city, a person playing an instrument on a street corner. Pedestrians stopped to listen and offer money, and the musician’s heart swelled at the acknowledgement.

She saw strange creatures singing in the depths of space, their song carried on gravitational waves to every corner of their galaxy. They were songs of peace and plenty, songs of a home they would finally return to after their great migration.

She saw young lovers walking arm in arm along a beach, their hearts filled with nothing but each other. Above them, the moon shone, and amused whispers followed in their wake.

She saw a great union of species that spanned universes and dimension standing side by side against the tide of darkness. They were all so different, and yet they stood as one and called each other friends.

She saw a titanic dragon cradle a dying universe and breathe life back into it, and she saw that same dragon, but so much younger and smaller, swoop down to carry a sheep to safety from rising flood waters.

She saw more and more and more and more – and she felt the souls, so very many of them, reach out to her, a deep abiding warmth spreading through her as she realised the full scope of what she was experiencing. This was all that was good in Creation. This was why the dragon could keep on fighting. This was why Creation and its people were worth protecting, no matter how hard it became.

“It is so easy to remember only the ones you could not help, but you must never forget the ones you did help. You must never forget that each person you help is another light in the darkness, another voice in the silence. Creation is still beautiful, and the people within it are still worth saving. The Void wants us to give up. It wants us to despair. Because it knows that one day we’ll win. Something that can only destroy can never defeat something that can also create. What you see as a small deed, barely worthy of notice, could mean the world to someone else. Don’t underestimate yourself or the good that you can do.”

At last, the vision faded, and Dawnscale found herself back in the giant hall with the cube.

“That… thank you,” she said quietly. She felt at peace for the first time in a long time. Her vision… she had blinded herself. She had dwelt only on the ones she had failed and had all but forgotten the ones she had saved. She wasn’t perfect. She never would be. But she was trying, and that mattered. “That helps… a lot.”

“I’m glad.” The cube bobbed up and down. “I think… I think this is where we part ways.”

“I think so too.”

“If I were you, I would seek out the phoenix. If you want to learn more about the Void-Born and how to deal with them, there are few others in this part of Creation who know more than her.” The cube sent a thought to her. “That should help you find her.”

“Thank you.” Dawnscale nodded. “For everything. Just… one more question.”

“By all means.”

“I haven’t been speaking to your actual body at all, have I?” Dawnscale asked.

“What gave me away?”

“Your presence… it’s not only in your cube. It’s all around us.”

“Very good. We are currently inside myself. As for my actual body…”

They vanished, and when they reappeared, Dawnscale found herself looking at a vast cube… within which was an entire galaxy.

“I am The One Who Remembers,” the cube said. “That galaxy that I carry within myself is the galaxy of my creators. It is frozen in time only moments after their demise.”

“Why?” Dawnscale asked. “A monument?”

“Originally, yes,” the cube said. “But before I parted ways with the dragon, I asked him if it was possible to restore them. If it was, I wanted to be the one to do it. I wanted to show that my creators were right to put their trust in me, that my name was well earned. Others might have forgotten them, but I never will.” The space beside the cube shimmered, and matter began to appear, drawn out of nothing through psychic might alone. “Matter can be created from energy. I have all of their memories, all of their emotions, everything that makes them who they are. I can remake their bodies. The only problem is their souls. I cannot create those. Instead, I must find a way to locate them through the cycle of death and rebirth and bring them to me.”

“I have light and astral magic,” Dawnscale said. “I will share what I know with you.”

“Thank you. In the same way that a sufficiently advanced artificial intelligence can gain its own soul, so too can sufficiently advanced science and mathematics alter the very fabric of reality. I possess the knowledge and wisdom of an entire galaxy, as well as all the knowledge and wisdom I have gleaned from my visitors, and I have been studying for almost nine million years. I cannot restore them, not yet, but one day I will. And when I do, I will not repeat the mistakes of the past. I will teach them as they taught me. I will guide them as they guided me. And I will love them as they loved me. I will show them a better path. Once again, their lights shall shine in the dark, and their voices shall break the silence. I shall be The One Who Remembers no longer. I shall be The One Who Lights The Way.”