And then the realization hit. Washing into him with rhythmic cascades; resonating within every part of his being. The boy was numbed by the effect and the feeling terrified him.
Everything and everyone that came before was the same. Their echoes had reverberated weakly previously, but now Arron heard them with complete clarity. Their dreams, their convictions, everything that made them human. They were like he and he was like them; one and the same. Only differentiated by his unconscious, and now lost, prejudice toward them. How had he been so blind? Like they, he and his people would die too, felled by hubris. Ending an exhaustive, self-made, cycling struggle. His people’s civilization would too crumble into ash, blowing into the winds of time. Only to be heard in faint whispers, barely understood and discarded disdainfully by those to come later.
All of this poured into the boy, deafening him, shaking him to his core; and he understood.
Wishing for naught, Arron made peace with the Gods and then he, and all else ended.