The Legacy of Ashlis Mecan

Many times on our path, we will stumble. We will lose those who walk beside us. We may get swallowed up by the hazards at the sides, from where our destination seems an impossible goal. And yet, there is a place for us who have suffered. A haven that protects and shelters from the agony we can face on the path.

But this was not always the case. There once was another who walked the path. Torn from her family, and cast into the wilderness. She was lost, adrift on a never-ending sea. The boundaries seemed unreachable, the tides unsurpassable.

But a hand was extended. A promise was made. Strangers helped her back on the path, and led her onwards to where two roads joined together. Although she did not realise it at the time, she had found a new family.

I would be lying to tell you that there was no more tribulation, that there were no more trials. There were. But through it all, the wanderer emerged, transforming the home of her family into a citadel, a beacon for all those others who wander.

Some day, my friend, you too may be cast out into the ocean. But when the waters threaten to swallow you up and the waves come crashing down, remember this: there are those out there, who will fight tooth and claw to save you. There is a house for people like us. And we owe it to the one who was lost, and the family that she found.

–A story told from colonists on Pyrhna IX to their children

The atmosphere in the camp is one of melancholy. Thousands of refugees displaced from their homes in Oasis, stranded now in a part of Corico with nowhere else to go. Rows and rows of temporary shelters spread across the arid plain, people packed in them far beyond capacity. Overhead, a rumbling noise, as several ground-to-orbit ships descend out of the sky.

When the crafts land at the edge of the camp, the response is mixed. A path of salvation, or the arrival of fresh new horrors? Wide doors open up at the rear of each, and several people from a range of species step out. Though not many would recognise the uniform of the Cartographers' Guild, word quickly spreads of their intent. They have come to resettle people to the Station. They cannot take all of them, or even most, but they can make a difference, and ease the burden for those who remain. But that is not the only reason they have come.

Alone, Ashlis Mecan disembarks from one of the ships. She makes her way between the rows of tents, the sounds overlapping into a cacophony of noise. Children crying. Grinding of metal. The trudging of people across the dirt. As she walks, news spreads of the arrival of the ships, that some of them might be able to leave. Uncertainty, caution, but also… relief. Faint laughter breaks out into the ensemble of noise, a delirious expression of catharsis. And still, the engineer makes her way forwards, the pendant on her neck glinting on the sunlight.

Eventually, she reaches a building. More permanent than the other shelters, the darkness inside almost suffocating. She steps inside, two Balra in front of her. An elderly one, in more formal attire. Administrator's clothing. The other, several years younger than Ashlis. A refugee. Her face, hopeful but sullen, the look of someone who has experienced trauma that may never heal. At the sight of the person entering, tears start to well up in her eyes. She takes a few steps forwards.

Ashlis runs up to hug her sister, an enveloping embrace, drawing it out as long as she can. Emotions bottled up for five, long years flowing free. Amidst it, she is able to form a sentence, words spoken with every gram of care she has.

“I'll never lose you again.”

In a while of course, the two sisters need to make their way back to the ship. Cargo has been unloaded and distributed across the camp, aid supplies for the ones they cannot resettle. Ashlis knows that Arokne awaits them both eagerly on the shuttle. But for now, the moment is held between them. A promise, and not one she ever plans to break. She knows too that she will never stop searching for the others, lost wherever they may be.

But here, together, perhaps the two of them can finally begin to heal.

A star burns alone, so far from the others. A distance beyond comprehension. Consuming itself in a desperate attempt to light up the sky.

It watches as the stars around it dim, as they fade from view. Each loss dragging it further into the void, further into the suffocating dark. So, it burns brighter, faster, harder. Anything to keep from being swallowed whole. Anything to keep from being lost in the dark.

New stars begin to wink into existence, a constellation with the lonely star at its centre. Yet still, it burns. Ferociously, desperately burns. A wild, roiling explosion waiting to happen. It consumes everything that it is, everything that it could be. The constellation forms, surrounding it, unaware of the destruction raging at its centre. The disaster waiting to happen, the danger it poses to them all. It shines brightly, blindingly bright, concealing the thrashing beast within. True brightness. False intentions.

From the centre of it all, it can see the new stars appearing. It can see a constellation begin to take shape, every pulse of starlight washing away the darkness that coated it for so long. Yet still, it burns. It burns so vibrantly, with such passion, that it cannot stop, it can never stop. A cosmic fire, consuming and destroying. It continues to build. Building and building, a disaster shining brighter than ever before. A beacon of destruction, an angel of death.

For a brief, glorious moment, the burning stops. Frozen in time. A single galactic heartbeat.

It is not alone.

Collapsing, exploding, blinding. A supernova, flinging the star to every corner of the galaxy. Energy flying out from its core, flooding the constellation with a ferocious, burning, scorching heat. Shredding stars, driving them closer to the point of no return. Stardust pulling away, scattering across the universe. Stripping them bare, striking them deep in their hearts. A shred of the lonely star, immortalised forever, burning within another. A constellation, forever scarred, forever changed.

Silence.

Settling stardust. Guttering fires, sparking out in the dark vacuum without anything to sustain them. The aftermath of a supernova. Remains of a constellation piecing themselves back together, finding that which is lost, healing that which is broken. Stars, wrecked by the celestial body they came to save.

The lonely star, gone forever. A void where once there was an all-consuming fire. A burnt husk, a frozen heart. Darkness.

Fragile starlight shines from the remnants of the constellation, illuminating, healing. Darkness shrouds what remains at its centre, left to wither after it hurt so many, hurt so intensely.

A few brief moments pass, or perhaps it is aeons. The stardust swirls, tracing paths across the galaxy. Coming home, to the place it could never leave. It has seen so much, felt vast emotions on its journey. It gathers, a soft glow twining with the threads of darkness. Shaping itself into something new.

The birth of a star. Its own light, reaching out, bathing the constellation once more. The stars that remain are different, glowing with new light. A familiar light, emanating from deep within. A tapestry of both, weaving across the galaxy. The stars that are gone can never be replaced, the constellation shaped anew. Their loss resonates, echoing heartbeats fading, pulsing, decaying. Waves of starlight caress the remains, honouring those that are gone. A faint memory, immortalised.

The lonely star is changed; cosmic fires replaced by gentle warmth. Consuming, destructive passion becomes a rhythmic hum, a meditative echo reaching out. A soothing heartbeat. Connection. A constellation, hearts beating as one.

The lonely star, alone no more.

Written by Caroline K.