Chapter Text
The first thing he noticed was the fire.
Then, the silence.
From this distance, the Astral Express descended without sound, reduced to a mere streak of molten gold carving through the black expanse between stars.
The flames that consumed its hull appeared strangely delicate against the vastness surrounding it. Debris peeled away from its body in glittering fragments that caught the silver moonlight before vanishing into darkness, each piece following its own inevitable course toward oblivion.
He watched without moving.
The destruction had unfolded exactly as he intended.
The child he had saved, the child he had held up using the powers of the Destruction (Graphia, her name was, yes), had betrayed THEM and himself. So in turn, he had waged destruction upon her and watched as it spread everywhere by her touch. The Weathering Curse for her blood and Total Annihilation for the Express she had betrayed him for — that, was the sentence he had bestowed.
Now, he simply watched it come to fruition.
The train did not survive.
For several long moments, nothing happened. Then the clouds swallowed the last of its light.
He remained where he stood looking at the fading trail and unbiddenly a simple word made itself known to his mind — beautiful.
The Express — the everlasting symbol of the Trailblaze — was now conquered by the same Destruction that he knew, was destined for all. He was right. He was right.
He almost smiled.
Below him, Planarcadia waited in uneasy stillness.
His hand rose.
A single gesture would suffice.
The Express had survived the fall, if only barely. He could still feel the faint distortion where its engine struggled against death, stubborn enough to resist annihilation for another heartbeat, perhaps another hour. That persistence was meaningless. It merely delayed the inevitable.
He extended his fingers.
The air around him trembled.
Countless worlds had ended with less effort than this.
Yet...
Nothing happened.
His hand remained suspended over the distant horizon.
He waited.
The hesitation puzzled him more than the train itself.
There was no strategic disadvantage to destroying it now. No unforeseen variable had emerged. No enemy capable of intervening. Leaving the wreck intact accomplished nothing.
His fingers slowly curled into his palm.
Why?
Why?
Why?
He examined himself as he would any anomaly.
Fatigue? Impossible.
Sentiment? Oh, Please.
Curiosity?
Hmm...Perhaps.
There was a tingle, in his fingertips.
Or was it in his head? his heart? his soul?
It told him that this whim of his would bring more questions than answers and oh...
He did so love questions.
(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)
His hand lowered.
The pressure gathering around him dissipated soundlessly, dispersing into the void as though it had never existed.
Far below, hidden beneath smoke and sand and shattered earth, the Astral Express lay broken.
He turned away at last.
For reasons he could not yet name, Asat Pramad remembered exactly where it had fallen.