Starmaker: Arvus

The dying sun was smaller than he remembered stars could be. Its core had gone quiet, its outer layers cooling into a smoky haze. The silver cities below had grown dim; their people huddled in geothermal warmth, telling stories of a sky that had once blazed gold.

"Our pattern ends with us," the voice replied. "We have no gods. We have no one else. Only you." starmaker arvus

Arvus had no mouth, but he learned to shape vibration into meaning. "What are you?" The dying sun was smaller than he remembered stars could be

For ten billion years, he had drifted through the Veil of Unformed Light, pressing his awareness against raw nebulae until they kindled into fusion. He had shaped blue supergiants for empires that would rise and fall before their light reached the nearest world. He had coaxed gentle red dwarfs into being, tucking them into the arms of spiral galaxies like lanterns for lost travelers. The universe called him Starmaker, and he worked alone. "Our pattern ends with us," the voice replied

Until the crack.

"Please," it whispered. "We are dying."