Time since the asteroid hit Earth: ~5.02 billion years (subjective to Aryan)
Aryan hovered at the edge of a collapsing nebula — watching it consume itself in colors too ancient to name.
It was… beautiful.
But also painful.
So many species now filled the galaxies.
So many stories unfolding — cities thriving, minds awakening, hearts breaking.
And yet… none of them ended.
They grew.
Stagnated.
Glitched into immortality.
> "I created a loop," Aryan whispered. "A reality where nothing fades."
> "Sounds cozy," Light God said, floating upside down on a comet. "Until your eternal neighbor starts playing galactic bagpipes for 2 billion years."
> "No wonder time feels heavy," Aryan said. "It has no release valve."
And so he sat down — on nothing, within everything — and carved a law so delicate even his hands trembled:
`EVERYTHING THAT LIVES… MAY END.`
He did not define death as destruction.
But as **a transformation**.
A return.
A bridge.
He tied death to entropy — not as punishment, but as **release**.
Planets began showing signs of seasonal decay.
Plants withered and gave seeds.
Civilizations fell not in flame, but in quiet.
And for the first time, living beings began to understand **legacy**.
> "They're recording memories now," Aryan said. "Even the Xari."
> "Mortality makes meaning," Light God replied. "Also, have you noticed that funeral rituals are weirdly beautiful?"
But not all took kindly to the new law.
A species known as the **Erix**, silicon-based lifeforms with near-infinite memory retention, rebelled against death.
They sealed themselves in crystal vaults.
Halted all reproduction.
Became **frozen minds** in orbit — preserving themselves as "the pure form."
> "They chose stasis over transformation," Aryan murmured.
> "Can you blame them?" Light God said. "Ending still feels like loss."
> "Because it is," Aryan replied. "And that's why it matters."
On one distant moon, a young being — barely evolved — etched a symbol onto stone.
Not a name.
Not a drawing.
Just a spiral…
uncoiling into a fading tail.
Aryan stared at it for a long time.
> "They understand," he whispered.
> "Maybe better than you did," Light God grinned.
And so, death became a sacred whisper — not a shadow.
Galaxies pulsed in rhythmic births and gentle ends.
Aryan breathed slowly, watching a red sun blink out — not with fear, but with quiet pride.
> "Let there be endings," he said.
> "So there can be stories," Light God added.
— End of Chapter 19