Needless Things: Celestial Guardians of the Astral Wasteland
They drift beyond the starfire's gleam, Where time unthreads and voids still dream, In galaxies the gods disowned, Their watch is kept, silent, alone.
No temple holds their sacred names, No scroll recalls their starlit flames. Yet through the shattered orbits wide, They burn — the last who never died.
Born of nebulae and ruin's breath, They walk the edge of life and death. Shadows bent by cosmic wrath, They light the stars that lost their path.
Their armor forged in solar screams, Their eyes are maps of broken dreams. Each step a hymn, a wound, a vow, To hold the line where none know how.
The Astral Wasteland howls with ghosts, Of fallen moons and shattered hosts. But still they rise, no glory sought, Their only creed: protect what’s not.
Among the wreckage, whispers ring— Of Guardians who feel no king, But bind the rift with soul and flame, And never ask for thanks or name.
If you should see them streak the dark, A comet’s trail, a vanished spark Know this: beyond your reach and ken, They fight for stars… and not for men. NNN