Chapter Text
Somewhere unknown to most, in the deep vastness of outer space, there are angels. Or at least, there is one angel. If there ever were other angels, they'd long since left him behind.
But that's fine.
The other angels were old, he tells himself, and surely they had better places to be.
It's not their fault.
And the young angel with silver supernova hair and green nebulae, starlit eyes- is perfectly content with this. Really. It's fine. Stop looking at him like that.
He is happy because he has the stars, crooning ancient lullabies as he holds them and whispering their secrets into his ears.
And more than the stars, he has Madara, who is not so much a constellation as he is literal starlight, and the great celestial beast swore to protect him- albeit for reasons the young angel does not yet understand.
And then, one by one, the stars he holds so carefully in his arms begin to collapse and die, and amidst the beauty of the nebulae and galaxies, even this is beautiful.
The stars explode, and just before they go silent, they offer to the young angel their names, and quietly request that he not forget them.
And so, in the next billion years, for given definitions of "years" between solar systems, he remembers the names of each and every star that died softly in his embrace, of every shrieking, cracking planet, of every human corpse floating listlessly in the infinite void. He takes their names and treasures them as if they are the most precious things in the universe, and then when the stars and planets and humans reincarnate, he returns their names, polished and shining and brilliant.
And then, he happens upon a tiny planet.
It is still new, little more than water and dirt held together by gravity, but the young angel- The Angel Of Dying Stars- is connected to the universe as an angel of Heaven is connected to God, and he feels a heartbeat eminating from it. The tiny palpitations of budding life.
Perhaps, if such a concept exists in the minds of angels, this pride and hope for this new life- this desire to see this new planet thrive- would be likened to a new father seeing his child for the first time.
And there, with a new planet before him and Madara patiently floating at his side, The Angel Of Dying Stars comes to a decision.
"I will name this planet." He declares.
Madara's ears flick towards him.
"Are you sure? It's one thing to return a name, but it's another thing entirely to create a new one."
The angel smiles.
"Yes. I want to name it- I think "Earth" fits it nicely."
Madara grumbles, but the angel doesn't pay attention. A comforting weight settles on his shoulders, above his golden comet-tail wings.
This newborn planet- Earth- will grow and live and die, and the Angel Of Dying Stars decides he wants to ensure this new life thrives. And then, when Earth dies like all planets do, he will take its name and cherish it until it is ready to be given to something else.
And it is with this in mind that the bright angel becomes a falling star, and plummets into the gaseous sea-planet he'd named Earth.