In a distant part of the universe, far from any planet, in a young galaxy brimming with possibility and the energy of newborn stars, there was one that was special. One star, formed in the heart of a mighty nebula, smaller and brighter than so many, was awake.
Stars don’t ‘see’ like you and I. For a star to even notice something it must exist for eons and be to their scale. Therefore the deaths and births of new stars are their main concern. When this bright new star emerged from the nebula, blazing with immense energy many of its larger, hungry kin pulled at it, their gravity swamping its own, struggling to absorb that awesome ball of energy.
But as we said, this star was awake and fought for his tiny space, a few million square miles of charged particles. Later there came a much mightier pull, a gargantuan star had consumed many others and was set to feast on the bright one. It’s fire was mighty and hot, yet unstable, its surface cool though it’s heart blazed bright. The giant made contact with our bright star, his unstable core churning with greedy hunger for more and more energy to heat that giant form. Our star blazed on amidst the raging, whirling matter, defiant and patient, waiting for his foes core to reach him.
With his contact that core exploded. The huge star ballooned and popped, immense waves of energy sweeping through the galaxy, igniting the nebula anew, birthing fresh new stars. In the aftermath our little star could be seen, a blazing ball amidst the cloud that was his hungry brother.
Eons of time passed on, the little star continued to grow. Around him he perceived his fiery young galaxy cooling and aging, slowing down by fractions over vast periods of time. He too had changed, he was larger now, still small though compared to some. He had learned conjecture and imagination in his long, slow life. He wondered if there were more like him, stars that could understand their galaxy. He sent messages in complex cosmic winds, praying another would answer. Every wave of energy that touched him he frantically tore apart, desperate to find some coherence in their arrangement, some pattern that would tell him there was something out there that knew him. Nothing came.
For long, long eons this was the case until at last he could take no more. But he was a star. Stars cannot will themselves to die. They might be consumed by their kin or the terrible black holes, or their fire will eventually burn out, but they cannot end themselves. So the star lived on, his cosmic songs nought but lament and misery. Even the battles with other stars were all but over, the nebula of his birth near spent.
A star scream. A frantic, fractured burst of energy sweeping through the galaxy. Every star in its path including ours perceived the terrible cry and the fate of the crier as its very being, even its core, was dragged into the mobile void of a black hole. Our star knew fear then, for he was no longer young and charged with vibrant energy. He was settled, near fixed in his patch of galaxy. Easy prey for those roving predators. Another star fell, and another, their cosmic songs snuffed out. Our star learned then to pity, for his kin were worse off than he. They sang he knew without purpose, songs announcing their existence to the universe at large, celebrations of their blazing selves. It was these songs the hungry void followed, eating up their energy, chasing down the stars that sang them. More and yet more were consumed, the mobile void insatiable.
Our star at last saw his chance for freedom. No longer would he be alone in this galaxy of dumb songs. He would summon the black hole and be consumed by it, a better fate than an ageless eternity of boredom. Rapidly his being flared, directed inter-stellar energy, a calling, challenging song, singing confidence and mockery of the horrid mobile void. He knew it could not understand, but the song was laced with his power and the black hole would follow the trail. Onward it came, that ghost of a star, asteroids and planetoids no match for its hunger. Passing other stars it caught their songs and ate them, but still our star sang on, louder than the rest, a song made of cosmic winds and solar flares, drawing the black hole on. he could not perceive it, for it did not exist as such. Instead he perceived it’s effect, the bending of the universe, the stretching of it. For a moment before it reached him, he wondered what this meant. Then it was upon him.
Light and cosmic energy, ablaze all around. Our stars bright flame re-ignited, lively and hot once more. Somehow he still existed, though in a different patch of night. Gone was the nebula and all his dumb neighbours. Gone was the cooling galaxy he had dwelt in for so long. This new place had many stars, more than he’d ever known. Their songs were many and confusing, a torrent of stellar voices.
Then our star learned joy and peace, for he perceived the pattern. He understood the cosmic winds, the message in the matter. “Welcome lonely Singer, we heard you from afar. For eons you sang alone, yet now here you are. The Darkened One has brought you here to us and to our aid. If it is stars that perceive you need we invite you here to stay.”
The Lonely Singer rejoiced, his cosmic music wild and swift. Around him the clever galaxy listened, bright and wise and true. At last he was not alone, among dumb low stars. Around him blazed mighty brothers, whose songs were complex messages. Many he spoke with had planets or rocks or stranger things in their orbit. He’d never had more than cosmic winds and lesser stars in his, save that one titanic battle he’d fought in his youth. But this galaxy was different and before long he had his own. Rocks were hurled his way by distant friends to make of them what he will. He set them on their paths and more rocks were dawn in. Two swirled with clouds of matter, unstable and mutable. With a flicker of thought he set their hearts ablaze, birthing his two gas giants. A third swirled with energy, but grew cold, for his hold on it was distant. It’s matter had a pattern though, slow and deep and flowing.
Satisfied with his nine adornments, our star threw other rocks back, launching them across the void in cosmic games of catch. Joyous eons followed, for he had friends at last. Then something very special happened on one of his rocks. In a quieter time when silly loud stars had died he heard a strange new song. So quiet he almost missed it, so brief he strained to catch it, he rejoiced still at the words.
“We are the growing things, we thank you mighty one. Without your cosmic light our growing could not be done.” Then the songs were confused and many, for new things emerged on that rock. Over yet more eons the mighty star has listened. He has heard the clamour of life and laughed, sometimes a little too loud, cosmic winds buffeting the tiny planet’s life-cloud. For the tiny things had funny ideas and funny names for him. At times they’d thought him like them, at others they’d believed him the lesser, to their tiny rock. But they grew swiftly wiser, faster than he had done, in time deciding on one name for the great disc of light. The Lonely Singer who’d travelled through the infinite night. They venerated and respected his power and his will. In his light they felt his joy, the thrill of one at peace. They could not understand his songs, or see the message in his winds. He knew they were teeny tiny and not for stars to talk to. Nevertheless their talk of him made him proud, and wise. For every day so many things gazed up bathing in light and joy. For he was the bringer of life and love, his light brought growth and fun. For the star of this tale is none other, than our bright old Sun.