Galactic Saga

The post lamp flickered beneath the pale glow of a half-moon, its light casting soft, shifting shadows across the cobblestone street. The old man sat comfortably on the small wooden bench, as he always did, positioned just across from his charming, ivy-clad home. It was late, and the warm lights within the house were gradually being extinguished one by one. Yet the faint murmur of life still lingered—a chorus of children's voices filtered through the open windows, their playful arguments over bedtime punctuated by their mother's exasperated attempts to settle them.

The old man smiled his weathered face softening as he watched his family carry on with their nightly routine. This, he thought, was the heart of life—messy, loud, but beautiful in its simplicity. He took a slow sip of tea from the delicate porcelain cup in his hand, savouring the warmth that lingered even as the night's chill began to creep in.

The sound of light footsteps on the stone path interrupted his moment of peace. He didn't turn immediately, but his serene expression shifted slightly, as if sensing the weight carried by the approaching figure. The man who emerged from the shadows was young, his features striking in their symmetry. Straight, sandy hair the colour of a desert sunset peeked from beneath a grey hat tilted just so, while a blue trench coat fluttered behind him in the cool breeze. His movements were deliberate, each step revealing a body honed by years of effort—not imposing, but marked with the quiet strength of discipline.

"Every time I look at the stars," the old man said, breaking the silence as the younger man drew near, "I notice more and more. They never end." He gestured upward with a frail hand, the tremor in his fingers betraying his age. "Sometimes I think that's what life is, too—a vast, endless horizon. Always something new to notice, something more to understand. Yet, for all the striving, for all the achievements, man is just a speck in the infinite. Right next to nothing... and still, they fight tooth and nail for that 'nothing.'" He let out a soft chuckle and sipped his tea again, his gaze now fixed on the younger man as he lowered himself onto the bench beside him.

"You've grown into a philosophically senile old man," the young man said, his voice smooth yet edged with sarcasm. His eyes drifted toward the stars the old man admired, but the sparkle in his gaze seemed to hold something darker.

"Old age changes people," the elder replied, a faint smile curving his lips. "At least, some of us." He turned fully to face his visitor, his eyes crinkling with a mix of amusement and recognition. "You took your sweet time coming here, didn't you?"

"I ran into a situation," the younger man replied, his voice steady but unreadable. "But I'm here now."

"You know," the old man began after a pause, "I was thinking earlier about that time you and I stayed up all night on the ridge, waiting for the meteor shower. Do you remember? We could hardly keep our eyes open by dawn, but you were determined to see every last one."

The younger man's lips twitched faintly, a shadow of a smile. "I remember," he said. "It was freezing. I thought you'd fall asleep and topple right off the rock we were sitting on."

The old man laughed, a warm, quiet sound. "I almost did. But I didn't, because I knew you wouldn't let me hear the end of it."

"You wouldn't have let me hear the end of it either," the younger man countered, the faint smile lingering for a moment before fading. His eyes dropped to the ground. "You told me... that we all need something worth waiting for. That's what you said that night."

The old man's expression softened, his voice taking on a quieter tone. "And I still believe it. Back then, I thought the stars were what we were waiting for. Something beautiful and fleeting. But now... now I think what I was really waiting for was all this." He gestured toward the house, toward the faint sound of laughter still drifting from within. "Family. Love. A life that means something."

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with unspoken words. The younger man shifted his jaw tightening as he stared ahead.

The old man broke the silence first "much as I'd like to say our experiences don't define us, I'd be lying. They shape who we are, whether we like it or not."

The old man's expression grew somber, his gaze distant. "Why couldn't you let that wound close?" he asked softly. "Why do you keep picking at it, making it fester?" His voice trembled slightly as he turned to the young man, his hand reaching out to grasp his forearm. "Let me go, my friend. Give me what was never given to you. I'll never forget it. I have grandchildren waiting for me—I love them, and I love my life."

His pleading eyes met the younger man's hardened expression, the weight of his words lingering in the cool night air.

"You want happiness," the young man said at last, his voice low and cold. "Happiness that was denied to me. You want your life, which was stolen from me." He leaned closer, a crooked smile forming on his lips, though his eyes betrayed none of its warmth. "I can forgive you for what you did to me. That's easy."

He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper that cut through the night like a blade. "But, there simply some things that I will never forget."

In a single fluid motion, the young man drew a knife from beneath his coat. His years of training guided his hand without hesitation, the blade slipping between the old man's ribs with deadly precision. The elder let out a muffled grunt, his body jolting as blood began to seep from the wound, pooling beneath him. His cane slipped from his grasp and clattered onto the pavement, the sound sharp and final.

The old man's breath came in shallow gasps as his life ebbed away, but his eyes never wavered from the younger man's face. "How does it taste?" he rasped, blood flecking his lips. "Is this blood finally enough for you?"

The younger man didn't answer. He stepped back into the shadows, the darkness swallowing him whole. The old man's body slumped forward, his gaze fixed on the faint glow of the stars above as the life drained from his eyes.

The night grew still again, the post lamp flickering one last time before steadying, as if the world hadn't just lost another speck in the infinite.