Once, there was a moth, drawn inexorably to the divine flame. It stole that fire for itself, forged it into weapons that could shake the earth and cast down the heavens themselves, heedless of cost or sacrifice. Surely, it thought, even as its wings charred in that heat, with this might it could defeat the ceaseless malice which sought to consume all life. Anything was justified in the face of such evil. Victory would wash away all sin.
It failed.
The moth burned. Its world burned with it. The forests burned. The seas boiled. Life gave way to death.
Yet even as it burned, as it charred and blackened into a hollow mockery of itself, it laid the seeds for a better future. Even now, its legacy persists, worlds and decamillennia away, chrysalides in a sea of embers.
None yet know if this legacy will avert the growing blaze... or provide its first sparks.
It failed.
The moth burned. Its world burned with it. The forests burned. The seas boiled. Life gave way to death.
Yet even as it burned, as it charred and blackened into a hollow mockery of itself, it laid the seeds for a better future. Even now, its legacy persists, worlds and decamillennia away, chrysalides in a sea of embers.
None yet know if this legacy will avert the growing blaze... or provide its first sparks.