We built a construct to fight the star-dragons.

His crystalline flesh we clad in metacarbon armour, his single eye protected and focused by a permeable amethyst visor. His wings shadow nations as he soars overhead, colossal in his grandeur.

We soaked him in humanity’s hopes and fears; in our hubris we fueled him with our manifold expectations.

But the weight of all of humanity’s sorrows is too much to bear.

The dragons draw nigh and our golem takes wing and drives them back, but there is no joy in the apogee of his orbits, merely desperation. Our fears weigh heavy upon his muscled bulk, and through his victories he is diminished, anxious.

It will not be the dragons who take him from us. One day he will soar to the stars and never return.

I wish him peace, out there in the black.