Firefall

Aldin never pondered death,

not like others, clinging to its shadow,

scraping the world for signs,

whispering to the end before it came.

He lived in the narrow spaces between work and sleep,

schemes and fury his companions,

trusting that death would arrive

and that it would have its own hour.

Now it had.

The sky shatters with light and clash,

a goddess with hair like molten gold

twisting in the wind,

her flesh torn, her arm reborn,

blood dripping in rhythm with thunder.

Far away, shadow lingers—

a mercy he cannot claim,

sent to witness, to bleed, to fall

without her gaze upon him.

Pain blooms beneath his ribs,

yet hatred blazes hotter,

scorching his chest with clarity:

the end does not frighten him.

Melody had sought meaning in mortality,

her laughter a fragile sun

against the dread she cherished;

but Aldin’s life, raw and unbending,

was all he owned, all he feared not.

He lies beneath the cracking skies,

blood warm, fading,

watching gods duel in crimson arcs,

and in this final hour,

he feels the smallness of being human,

a firefall descending through flesh and bone,

yet still he burns with defiance.

Death waits, as it must.

Meaning may arrive in its shadow,

or perhaps not.

But in the gut of this final moment,

he is entirely alive—

even as life lets go.