Star-Lore

One soldier approached, stepping carefully over the broken stone. His boots pressed softly into the thick dust.

He turned on his helmet comms and spoke clearly. "Identify yourself."

A moment passed. The old man opened his eyes. They were pale and watery, but calm. He didn't look afraid. Slowly, his dry lips cracked into a faint smile. His voice came through the comms — weak and raspy, like wind through dead leaves.

"Do not... worry about me," he said. "He will come... soon. He will take me... home."

The soldiers looked at each other, uneasy.

Then, one of them noticed something worse the old man's leg.

It was horrible.

His robe was torn open at the side, and what lay beneath was barely human.

The skin was black and green, with streaks of red. In some places, the flesh was gone entirely, revealing pale bone underneath. The infection was deep, old, and deadly. Even through the filters in their suits, the smell reached them sweet, rotten, like something long dead.

That injury should have killed him weeks ago. No food, no water, no air and still he sat here, somehow alive.

One soldier spoke again, more urgent now. "Did you see it? The battle? Destroyer? Did you see the one he fought?"

The old man didn't answer that. He just looked up past the broken towers, past the dust, up into the sky full of cold stars.

He smiled.

"He comes..." he whispered again. "From the stars... he comes... for me."

Then he closed his eyes and leaned back against the stone, as if waiting.

The soldier frowned, stepping closer. "Sir, your leg is badly infected. You need help. We have medicines."

But the old man shook his head slowly. "No... no help needed."

Then, with effort, he tried to stand.

He pushed against the stone, his body shaking. His good leg trembled. The ruined leg dragged behind him, limp and useless. His movements were slow and awkward, like a puppet with broken strings.

He managed one slow step. Then, his strength gave out.

He collapsed.

A soldier rushed forward, catching him before he hit the ground. The old man was frighteningly light all bone and dust. The soldier gently helped him back down onto the stone slab.

The dust rose around them, glittering in the light.

The old man's breathing was rough, shallow. His eyes were closed. His body sagged with exhaustion.

He didn't look at them anymore. He was looking somewhere far beyond.

"He comes..." he murmured again. "He comes... for me."

Two soldiers stepped back. One whispered to the other through a private channel. "This isn't normal. That leg's dead. He should be dead. How is he still breathing?"

"I don't know," the second replied, hand resting near his weapon. "Maybe he's not just a man."

They turned to look again.

And then they froze.

The stone slab was empty.

The old man was gone.

Only the imprint of his body remained in the dust. There had been no sound, no sign, no warning.

Just... gone.

The scanners swept the area. No heat. No movement. No life signs.

Just silence. Cold dust. And a faint trace of rot.

The soldiers stood still, suddenly feeling very small in the ruins of something much larger, much older — and much stranger — than they could understand.

The two soldiers moved fast, their heavy boots kicking up little clouds of pale grey dust that sparkled in the moonlight. They swept their helmet lights in wide arcs over the ruins — scanning behind broken columns, beneath cracked slabs, over every inch of jagged stone.

But the place was empty. Silent. Still.

Only the cold windless dark of space and the dust remained.

Their scanners kept clicking softly in their hands — ping… ping… — but the signals found nothing except rock and vacuum.