no matter what they say, I am still the king
Things come and go -- life is fickle that way. What was here one day, is gone the next (such was the case, perhaps, of the tentacled one who tended to you). There is grief with loss (in some cases) and yours bleeds and mixes with your primal urge to protect. Your vigor to safe harbor the dying land is honorable, loyal, fierce; a desired quality in this dessicated land -- but with no Yidhra to see it (will she ever?).
You are a creature of the night, crawling across the land with your low groan of loss - of abandonment - of uncertainty what will happen next. You are a ghost, silent even when Yidhra calls to all (where had you gone, little pink star? Why didn’t you answer to your master?). You exist on the planes of silence, a quiet cosmos in the dark brawl of Pangea - biding your time (for what? For what?).
Alas, finally, your time has come. Once your precious Yidhra has sank deep below the waves, once her call across the land to all has faded in echos - now you arise, now you awaken, now you find the magician.
You are the only one to come (though, He is not surprised, He had seen in the past year how little grew and flourished in this land). He waits, biding time for the land to vomit forth any else who may have been crawling in its shadows - but none come. It is just you, little pink star, you are the only one left it seems. But still, you speak with clout.
“Cosmos,” He plucks your name with ease from the universe, “how nice of you to join us finally.” A jest, of course, ’us’ because there is no one else- just you. “I do not deign to be recognized. I simply am Archon now.” He watches your passive tone, your gentle delivery - a statement, as though you speak for the land, regardless of how little you had been present here. “Unless you would like to try otherwise.” His statement reflects little upward inflect; just barely a question.
(now, the storm is coming in)
@[cosmos]