There is a lot of mystery surrounding Dawn Erebus and her past, and not all of it may be unveiled.

We take an interesting look at something completely different, and I know a lot has happened in the last chapter and that I should really get into the whole slice of life aspect of the story, but all things come in time.

If any of you are enjoying the story so far, then kudos to ya.

The perishing stars hold many stories and secrets unknown to most that live under them, of times when life had begun, ended, and began again. Many of their secrets are forgotten, but only one of their eldest secrets has been strived to remain in their minds. New stars would be told the harrowing secret, and it would be so that they never forget; it would be etched deeply within their psyche.

No matter how ancient they became, how troubling it was, they perpetually retained it within their minds above all else. It's a secret that once shook their very hearts and souls, and instilled fear and dread; a horrible living nightmare. A secret neglected but never truly forgotten. A secret that can doom an entire planet.

After being brought down by the star-favored youth, the ancient secret was chained and locked away in a domain that the waning stars created many ages ago, effectively ending the epochal event of that secret's entire existence. However, as all chains are made to confound and constraint, so too can the forsaken fetters weaken and wither to set what once was restrained loose and unhindered.

Beyond the verge of the star-fading frontier, and even further still, there's a melancholic place that exists alone, persisting in a realm of emptiness; where the void of darkness was none, not even the faint of light, travels. The black space swirls and churns unending; there is only despair, unhappiness, despondency, the cold, and sorrow.

Love does not exist, nor does hope or dreams. Where one's esprit is drained; a forsaken prison; a pitiful place of solitude and silence. Unpretentious; light does not exist, voices acutely shallow, the sound faded, and the heart and mind hollow.

Through the dark corridor lay a hallway where the floor mimics the cosmos, the black walls twist and turn without end, each vacant step dull and quiet. Eventually, a black-stained door appears in the near distance covered in dark purple pulsating veins. Something terrible resides in that forlorn space; a persisting thing that withers endlessly, like the waning stars, but death has no authority.

To stand before the withering frame is to stand in front of frost and ice. Beyond the door lay a large, reflective space vacant of any possessions; it only housed an immense amount of emotion that could choke the heart and stymie the influx of air to the lungs.

At the end of the depressing room laying atop the cosmic nadir is a slumped figure feigning the rigor mortis of a corpse that should have long been extinguished.

The black figure had sections of its hairy chest, arms, and face missing, revealing behind the vacant flesh a void of swirling darkness, its lifeless apertures were black and hollow, and its two heavy hairy legs and cloven hooves were severed from its body, and its once-strong horns are split and smashed. Its dirty, bedraggled, shaggy mane hung loosely across its shattered visage as one of the cavities in its chest, where the heart should be, began to gradually illuminate with a foreboding red glow.

Not a speck of blood was seen seeping from the figure; none leaked from its hollow orifices, nor was any amongst the cosmic floor with its crimson taint. Instead, the floor underneath the figure was inundated with a murky black pool of festering darkness.

The lower jaw of the figure was loose and dislocated, showing off rows of chipped teeth and a withering tongue, but with a deft eye, one could seldom discern faint movement; the figure still had some life, however paltry it presented. And how desperately did it cling to whatever life it breathed; it was persisting on pure emotion alone. There was so much turmoil and rage that pervaded the still air around the room; immense resentment and wrath brought an extra layer that coated the atmosphere, and, strangely enough, there was a faint hint of ruefulness and grief littering about; naught but paltry strands.

There is no true life there. No strength can breach its walls, no mind powerful to invade the prison. It is located at the end... the end of all things, where the ancient secret is trapped for all eternity. This phantom husk yearns to be free. The holy binds that constrain the ancient secret were beginning to wither away; it was only a matter of waiting. All things die, and all things fade into nothingness no matter how powerful they are. The shackles begin to crack, and a fracture in the restraints emerged, eliciting a small noise that echoed throughout the room.

Suddenly, the figure feigning death very slowly turned its stiff head towards its broken arms and saw the crack within the golden shackles. It watched and waited as another crack began to form. The binds weaken; it can feel their strength waning; it was so close to tasting its long-awaited absolution.

Soon, the ancient secret will be free.

It forced its lower jaw to snap back in place and said, "Erebus... Erebus... Erebus..." it slowly repeated over and over again to a crawl, its hauntingly deep and broken voice filling the room. "Never... forget. Remember... what's left. Remember me. What you left behind. I... know where you are. I won't stop. Never. Starless... youth; the other one... naught but a dreg. I will never stop. Erebus... Erebus..."