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Desslok looked up towards the first stars of night that were slowly appearing out of the dark even as the sun dipped beneath the horizon behind him, painting the sky of Planet Starsha a beautiful shade of orange and scarlet fire. The wind gently stirred hair that had once been pale golden and was now a shining silver.
He had never anticipated that he might be able to spend his final moments in peace and light, on a world named for the one he loved. In his youth, in the midst of the fires of war that had burnt Gamilon--and himself--and scarred them almost beyond recognition, he had always believed he would give his life in the midst of battle, with all-encompassing flame being the last thing he ever saw.
She had fallen that way, and too many others too numerous to name. But he had lived, at and first he had been furious at his continued survival, at the fact that he had lived while so many others had died.
He could never have pointed to a time when he had changed from the Leader of Gamilon, bursting with fiery passion and vengeful fury, to the Emperor of Galman, who had, in the end, become one who was kind and gentle and wiser than most could ever hope to be.
And that was when he had known why he had been spared.
Because in those years, he had saved so many more than he had before condemned. The Yamato was mighty, but he did not merely rule an Empire, it was his, for not only had he created it, but he was its very heart and soul. And he had led his people on the journey to build a benevolent kingdom, and though he had fought wars in his quest for that kingdom, they had been small in comparison to the destruction that had blazed across galaxies when the Yamato had first launched.
His only regret was that Wildstar had not been there to see it. The lives of the Terrans were short compared to that of his people, and it had been over two hundred years since he had seen the last of the Yamato's original crew fade away.
He looked up towards the stars as night darkened about him, and a wry smile quirked his lips, because he had defied death all his life, and now he would allow it to slip into his heart and claim his soul without resistance.
Although, he supposed he understood why. There were friends beyond the veil, friends he had not seen for far too long, and another he would give all eternity for the chance to see again.
"Starsha, I am ready now," he whispered, words carried away by the gentle wind. His eyes slid closed.
"Bring me home."
Talan stood atop the steps of the Imperial Palace, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood tall whilst the funeral ceremony played out, gentle strains of music wafting into the clear air.
Desslok lay still upon the stone slab which rested at the base of the steps, white roses and violet Galman blossoms strewn about him. His hands were folded over a sword that had once been ceremonial but had later become Desslok's favored weapon in close combat.
Talan bowed his head, closing his eyes to ward off tears. The Emperor's crown weighed heavy upon his head; Desslok had abdicated the throne to him not three days ago, and he had to have known.
Talan knelt before Desslok's throne, his head bowed briefly in fealty before he looked up to meet Desslok's eyes.
"What is it, sire?"
Desslok came to his feet in a single fluid motion, defying the silver of his hair and his own age, eyes still bright and clear.
"Talan, you have been my loyal confidant and dearest friend all these years. And now. . . " he trailed off briefly, looking out over the skyline illuminated by the setting sun, ". . . I have one task remaining for you."
"Name it, sire, and you may consider it done," Talan said with calm confidence. Desslok smiled softly, chuckling just a little, before he reached for the crown of green crystal atop his head.
"I have forged a powerful empire, in blood and the fire of war, but you, my dear Talan, will be the one to solidify it." Talan bowed his head as his Emperor descended the steps leading to his throne. "And now, I pass to you the crown and throne, Emperor Talan I. Long may you reign." The crown came to rest upon brown hair streaked with gray as Talan raised his head and slowly came to his feet. Desslok bowed his head as Talan ascended the dais, a light smirk accenting the glimmer in his eyes.
And as Talan seated himself in the imperial throne, he looked over at his closest friend and said, "Thank you. . . sire."
Now, Talan raised his head and slowly descended the steps to Desslok's side, placing a hand over his and whispering, "Goodbye, my friend."