Destiny appeared before them, a view of the Broken Sphere that seemed to envelop them as though they were there.
They watched. Seconds became years, then decades.
The sphere of phlogiston solidified to become a black crystalline wall that seemed to take up all of existence. Inside, the phlogiston swirled and condensed. The flaming shards that had been the Spelljammer's hull had embedded in the inside layer of the reforming sphere. There the latent magical energies imbued within the phlogiston merged with the Spelljammer's soul. The shards transformed into crystals, glowing with power. The memories of the Spelljammer became the stars that generations of as yet unborn humans would look up to and dream about, create myths around, make love under, and reach for.
The swirling phlogiston inside the sphere was a roiling firestorm. In time, the energies separated, and the forces of magic condensed the spinning balls of phlogiston into a glorious, brilliant sun and worlds-eighteen of them, perhaps more, perhaps less. The sphere would be reborn-not identical to Ouiyan, but in honor of the sacrifice the sphere had made millennia in the past.
— Its destiny, the Spelljammer sang, is unlike ours. It waits to write itself where our destiny is and always has been written for us.
A thousand years later, the worlds teemed with life. Eight-legged horses roamed the ocher plains of Thoris. The seas of Hedriana swam with orange fish that changed color with the hours of the day. On Elias, even the smallest field mice had the innate ability to summon magic. And on the recreated worlds that had once been Colurranur, BedevanSov, Ondora, Ladria, Asveleyn, and Resanel, life reappeared. Species that had been destroyed millennia ago were renewed, reshaped, on new worlds formed from the molecules of the old, and] they shared their worlds with new forms of life that celebrated 1 the variety of existence and the wonder of being. j
And into the animal kingdom came humanity, which brought with it fire. Humanoids brought with them intelligence and evolving languages. They brought myth and wonder, fear and awe. They told tales of legend, of how the night eats the sky, of how the gods look upon them from the eyes in the night. They learned the ways of magic, and they learned how to fly.
Humanity learned, and once again lived in peace. Like their forgotten forerunners, they lived peacefully with the other life forms of their worlds, learned how to speak with the beasts of the sea, how to respect life in all its forms, and how to play games of skill with the denizens of the trees…
… and every year, as they migrated from planet to planet, as they returned to teach humanity how to sing into the stars and imagine worlds and places undreamed of, swarms of reborn spaakiil, the last legacy of the Spelljammer, filled the skies.
— This is the future, the Spelljammer said, a future unwritten, merely shaped by the darkness of future past, one of millions of realities that have yet to unfold, waiting to take shape in the Sphere That Once Was. In a thousand years or so, when all this has come to pass-or has not-and perhaps the known spheres will have found peace, Ouiyan Reborn will once again be open for all vessels from all spheres. Here all may learn, orcs and humans, mind flayers and beholders. All may learn… together. Songs of joy will be sung throughout the spheres, the races will live and evolve together, and the Spelljammer will lead the fleets of war and death into a universe of eternal light. -And when they reach the stars? Teldin asked. -Then nothing will be impossible.
The Reborn Egg vanished from view, and Teldin's vista was filled with darkness. He reached out with the senses of the Spelljammer, and in the wildspace around him he felt only emptiness, the cold wastes that stretched without the spherical boundaries that he knew. He knew not where they were; but the universe belonged to them.
— And us? What are we to create?
— We are changed, the Spelljammer sang, and the Cloakmaster reached out to examine… himself.
The Spelljammer was larger, sleeker. Its mantalike body had retained its basic shape, but its flesh was translucent, flickering like blue crystal, and the warrens had become veins that pulsated with the immense power of its life force.
The city on its back gleamed with the fires from the Spelljammer's body. Its towers were taller, more ornate; built of gold and silver, of polished, vibrant crystal, and a shimmering metallic stone that was brighter than any substance the Cloakmaster had ever seen.
It was the Spelljammer, reborn into a pure, untouched universe, formed by an unknown set of physical laws. Perhaps it was a new dimension. Perhaps the Spelljammer had reappeared in a sphere far larger than any other in the known universe. Perhaps…
The Cloakmaster felt himself smile, though he was ethereal now, his body one with that of the Spelljammer. Wherever they were, this was their universe, their creation, a broad plain of wildspace that stretched out before them, beckoning to be explored. Out there, on the fringes of his senses, he felt something waiting for them, singing its own song in this place of discovery. There were magnificent cities-there had to be; he could touch them with his soul-floating between suns. Swimmers sailed the seas of space, basking in the warmth of stars. Minds called to him with their need, their yearning, to dream.
There was life.
The Cloakmaster understood it all then, the purpose of the Spelljammer and the interweaving of so many destinies: the Spelljammer creating life; the new life spreading out and creating its own wonders, finding its own dreams, creating its own Spelljammers its own realities, spreading magic and wonder of life everywhere.
Its purpose, written by the Architects when the universe was young, was clear: The Spelljammer must not pay penance for its innocent crime, but find purpose in life, its own life.
To create, discover, teach, show, renew, restore, and live.
The simple life he had known before was long gone. The past was past, and the universe of his birth was just a dim vision in a spyglass, forever too distant for him to reach. This place, this universe… this was untouched, virginal, he felt. This was his to explore, his to create. Part of him sang with joy at his new birth, at the wonder of his destiny; and part of him wept at the worlds that were now forever lost.
— Verenthestae, the Spelljammer said. -It means far more than the interweaving of destiny. It is a concept that has survived the millennia, originating from an ancient tongue from the Broken Sphere. Tru'vaer. It means also…
The Spelljammer sang into the void. Its new, crystalline body glowed with the light of innocence. Its veins flowed with the power of galaxies, and its song rang through his heart, unwrapping the now useless layers of humanity that Teldin Moore, the Cloakmaster, had held onto like precious gems, and exposing the blinding light of his soul.
And in the bearing of his soul, he felt what verenthestae meant, though words could only approximate its true meaning.
— let the light of the soul shine forth and be revealed.
— Let the song of the soul spread truth into darkness.
— Let those apart he brought together.
— Know thyself.
— Seek…
— Love…
— Cherish life…
— And do not yield.
He blazed with the light of a star. The heart of the Spelljammer burned with Teldin's soul, and their song was absorbed into the fires of a newly created sun.
The Spelljammer banked lazily, away from the spiraling system of dust clouds and gases. The emptiness of the void stretched far ahead, into eternity, and the Spelljammer sang into it, waiting for the distant day that its song of life would finally be answered and the wonders that it had seen across the void would be shared.
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