Too late…
The words whisper round and round in the sudden stillness. Where there were clashing sabers and screaming lightning, there is only silence punctuated by rasping breath. Three figures are visible in the vast expanse, all motionless. Two are dead: one, still alive. For now.
Too late…
He was always too late. And when he wasn't too late, the effort was never enough to save them. Could never be enough. Now he cradles a young man in his arms, arms that held a dying woman many years ago, arms that were not strong enough to save her then, and weren't strong enough to save his child now.Too late…
The silence is broken by sound at last. A soul cries out, lost without its guiding star, without its light. An eerie wail echoes through the cavernous chamber, resonating through space and time, devastating in its intensity. The galaxy shakes. A star dies.Too late…
The station crumbles around him, but he makes no move to save himself. Death is certain for any aboard the artificial moon, but he cannot find the strength to care. Trembling fingers remove clasps, fumble for catches. A soft hiss, a quiet clank of metal-on-metal, the sound of a labored breath…the echoes die away into silence once more, save for ragged sobs. Eyes freed from dark prisons look in anguish on a face that by all rights should have brought nothing but joy and pride. Darkness swirls around the lone figure, the night of a different form than what had encompassed him for so long. The night of the soul, despair beyond knowing.As a distant pilot shouts in triumph at a lucky shot, a green blade flares to life. Before the world explodes, the light strikes home and the last figure falls.
Too late…