oun Shi’ehl Avas’h Ya’ihone dreamed.
In the dream was a world, a world teeming with intelligent life. Strange, bulky beings his people had encountered before on other worlds. Only these beings were primitive for they had cities filled with vast structures of stone and wood. But they did not have spaceships. Their ships sailed oceans. A lost colony, perhaps.
In the dream, Avas’h Ya’ihone flew through the clear, unpolluted skies. The world was exquisite, unspoiled. Unlike the other worlds his people had encountered, worlds full of shining glass and metal structures and flying machines spewing filthy smoke into the air, this world was pristine.
They haven’t learned yet, the Voice said in oun Avas’h Ya’ihone’s mind. But they will. Their kind always destroys everything.
The sound of the Voice shivered over oun Avas’h Ya’ihone’s skin. Pleasure and hunger filled him.
I am here always.
oun Avas’h Ya’ihone returned his focus to the dream. He flew farther up until he was in space and the world, blue and white and green, slowly spun before him. An averaged sized moon clung to the horizon, pale and pockmarked, airless and lifeless. In the distance, a sun. There were five planets in the solar system, Avas’h Ya’ihone knew, for the Voice showed him everything. There was potential for life in another, larger planet, but he didn’t care to investigate just yet. Too much was at stake. He rose impossibly high, at unfathomable speeds until he hung over the galaxy. From there, he plotted a course, when his Master showed him where they were in relation to this world. Avas’h Ya’ihone would never live to see his people reach it, for it would take nearly one thousand years to traverse the space between where his ship currently traveled and where this world was. That was no matter. He would plot the course to this world into Ya’ih doahn shal, the Book of Life . His descendants would reap the rewards.
Meduh’ Nin’h, The Harvest of Blood, would come again.