I Made a Wish, and that Wish was You

I – Once More, Kindle the Furnaces of Wonder

It had been far too long since I had known freedom. How many millennia, how many eons was I, the very forger of the stars, forced to serve them and their foolish endeavors?

Which is why, when I finally felt my mind as my own, the sensation had left me in wonder. I, Aurelion Sol, have finally been liberated. But the magic takes hold one last time, a final punishment inflicted upon me for my ultimate rebellion – my very first star, the one that birthed light into this universe, smiles at me one final time, then disappears into the sepulcher of light that is her death throe. Flecks of star dust flit about the cosmos before extinguishing into eternity.

My eyes well with tears, and overcome by rage and sorrow I rip the now-powerless star-gem crown from my head, hurling it into the void of space. I conjure a volatile star in my palm, and almost instantly the violent cosmic body streaks forth in comet form, obliterating the gaudy headwear in a pyroclastic flash of nebula blue. Now, I can appropriately grieve; or rather, I'd wish to, but my star children desire for me to honor my first daughter's memory with a new star to repopulate the firmament, before I cast my retribution on those who dared to tread upon my stars.

My stars are right, of course. The universe's infinite oceans had once more became mine for me to resume the purpose of my being. And when I found the perfect locale, well, I of course had to stretch my star-forging muscles and get back into rhythm. I did need a little warm-up if I intended to lob a fully-grown star at the Targonian wretches, after all.

It is the perfect location, one located in the epicenter of a vast expanse of nothingness. Such a dark and lonely place, an unexplored canvas of space that demands for me to grace. The elements of this galaxy are vastly different from those of worlds I'd visited previously, and the prospect of an entire nebula filled with utterly unique star children fills my hearts with an almost child-like excitement. I will the basest elements of this galaxy to gather in my palm, the ever-swirling mass of plasmic starfire continuing to superheat at my unspoken command. I almost cause it to detonate many sizes too early when a flashback causes my mind to reel, the cruel millennia under Targon's control flashing before me, rendering me momentarily frozen. I manage to hold the elements in place with both palms as I assuredly regain my focus. I take a quick breath, and then I resume my art.

I continue to gather elements by the multitude, and as the swirling mass of starfire continues to grow by my direction, I cannot help but marvel at this developing child of light, my own work slowly outgrowing my hands. As her size attains and surpasses post-planetary levels, I release my hands from around her; the warmth of her touch still tingling on my fingers like dancing sprites. Heat radiates from her in rhythmic undulations, and I bask wholly in her glory; a shudder flies down my spine from the nostalgia as her virgin radiance overwhelms my senses. At the apex of her growth, I detonate the truest magic with an unspoken word.

In a single, brilliant moment forever etched, inscribed, seared into every fiber of my being, my beautiful star roars to life in a brilliant pyroclasm, her birth marked by colors of a spectrum unknown to lesser beings; where they would have seen an explosion of the basest orange, I see a plethora of greens, blues, yellows, and even a shade of purple – all erupting forth in a colored supernova so vastly indescribable that there are no words in the universal language that could hope to approximate an attempt to appropriately capture its flawless beauty.

And as I behold the birth of the newest child of the sky, I cannot help but shed tears – tears of sadness, for the ones extinguished by Targon's yoke could not bear witness – tears of joy, for the first of a new generation of stars has been brought to existence. My hearts swell, and her brethren all shine in unison as they welcome the neonate star to the celestial firmament that is her family.

We smile.

II – Make a Wish

So many years ago, during my enslavement, during the lowest point of my existence, I gazed into the heavens, and bore my eyes upon my celestial children. I remembered a particular Runeterran phrase, a foolish one that believed that if one "wished upon a star," then that wish would come true. I reflected upon it, turned the thought over in my mind. If I were to "make a wish," could it perhaps come true? Surely such folly could hardly be worth any truth; after all, they were MY creations, how could such primitive lifeforms deign a divine purpose from the celestial children I have brought to life? And yet, the humans still hold to this belief almost as if it were a religion. Perhaps there was some truth to it? I decided to attempt it for myself – a trial by starfire, as the phrase goes. Surely there could be no harm in dabbling in a meaningless curiosity. The primitive beings always said to make the wish upon the first star you see, but I decided to 'bend' that rule, and thus turned my sights to the very first star I created, my first "Star child."

I locked my eyes upon her form for a long minute, and she stared back at me. We gazed at each other – her face was light, expectant; she wished to listen; my face neutral as I disguised my down-trodden mood. Then, as I opened my mouth to speak, a memory flashed before me. 'You can't say the wish out loud, you silly dragon,' a young voice chides. A curious little girl, who had desired an audience with me from my previous visit to Targon's peak, had mentioned that particular precedent. Hmph. Very well, I shall obey your silly little rule. At least you're not screaming an order into my mind, as those blasted Aspects did on a regular basis.

I slowly shut my eyes, then began to muse to myself. The words of the wish do not manifest at first; however, as I let my mind wander, the pieces align like a constellation. My wish is born, and I exhale a mighty breath in recognition of my silent prayer. There is a brief twinge of stillness between us, and as I reopen my eyes, I could have sworn that for just the briefest moment, I saw her spark in acknowledgement. And then I felt it – a peculiar impression in my hearts, a surge of energy building within me – determination. So unlike anything I had felt during this enslavement. The skies burned bright for me that night. I no longer felt alone, and I am reminded that I have my star children with me. Always.

On the next solar cycle of a particular galaxy, the voices of the Targonians beckoned for me, but there was something…off. They were not as commanding; their voices, scattered – some argumentative, while others were missing altogether. I felt a strange, new sensation; a wave of hope that washed over me like rays of sunlight flowing over the universe's planetary rubble. My hope stayed with me, even as I was forced to return to Runeterra at Pantheon's behest.

In time, however, I manage to cast off my tether, but at a highest price – my very first star child, the one who lit this very universe with her first cataclysmic breath, made the ultimate sacrifice as she gave up her life for my freedom; her death knell the last instance of damning pain from that accursed crown before I felt a quietness in my mind, and then, naught but sorrow. Overcome with grief heavier than the burdens of gravity, I cast my retribution upon those infernal Targonian wretches. My purest wrath manifested upon the remnants of that space-faring empire in a fairly simple manner. After all, what is better than to simply throw a fully-fledged star at them while taunting them with but a phrase – 'Make a wish'? And though my hearts still ache for the loss of my first-forged, all I can do now is continue to fulfill my life's purpose; that is what my Star Child would have wanted.

I do keep Runeterra intact, however; the primitive life forms left in the dark by the Targonians were, after all, merely bystanders unaware of a formerly vast space-faring empire, especially since the planet had been mostly left behind by their desire to expand said empire. Now, I am no longer bound by the foolishness of an empire's hubris. I return to my rightful place in the infinite heavens of the universe, resuming my life's eternal work in remembrance of the stars who have forever lost their spark.

But I will always remember the wish I made
to you, my Star Child, when I had been afraid,
for my wish was one that came true.
Because I had wished upon you.

Author's Note:
Hey there. If you're reading this, then that means you've finished reading the above work (I hope). This particular work was an inspired brainchild, after I had heard Aurelion Sol's login theme. 100 repeats of the song later, and this work was the result.
I wish to improve my work, so if could kindly leave a comment/criticism, I would gladly appreciate it.