Preludes

Amid the burning wreckage, it shone clearly, like the heart of a star.

Colors danced through the orb in all the hues in the visible spectrum-- and possibly beyond. Reds. Blues. Violets. Gold-- all twining together, then flying apart as though they were in the middle of some sort of grand tango. A living rainbow; delicate. Exciting. Ephemeral.

Dying.

The unfortunate man who had been fleeing to the shelter was watching it from where he crouched in the flicker of its pale blue shadow.

Then the shadow died, fading away into nothing-- and leaving the orb itself naked to hum quietly in the muted chaos.

The glow diminished.

The man's gaze was still fixed upon it though. It was... beautiful. He wanted to just stand there and watch it, ignoring the roar of the battle still being fought overhead. Ignore the pain from bruises on his face, and the gash in his side that bled crimson to mingle with the darker fluids coming from the torn silver frame in which he could see the orb pulsating weakly.

It was trapped within a form that could no longer sustain it, he realized. It was dying, and there was nothing that one battered and bleeding man could do to stop it.

He reached for it.

The light was splendor. It shouldn't be left alone. It sang to him.

"...no..." The faint voice rattled from a head that reminded the man of something. Grecian sculpture, perhaps, wings brushing the helm, a fainter still glow still illuminating shadowed features. "... don't touch..."

The orb's dance slowed yet again, its internal glow fading through the slower end of the spectrum. Orange. Red. Like the dying embers of a fire.

Still, the man reached for it, shaking hands not stilled by the voice. Curiosity burning brighter than the orb. Would it be hot? Would it be rough? Or smooth, like the sleek silver that barely contained it.

Fingertips brushed the surface.

With a mad crackle of energy, a flash burst from the center of the dying orb, leaping through the outstretched hand.

And then there was darkness.