He’d been a pillar once.
Strong and proud, with a backbone of steel strong enough to hold up the sky. He had been a symbol, a dispenser of justice and its personification, the one who had proven that even the mighty were subject to the laws of their people, beholden to the interests of the colony.
There was honor, and he had enforced it.
There was order, and he had lived it.
Mother’s words, spoken softly, that nonetheless rang bell-like throughout the room, resonating deep within his chest. Large, golden pools that looked upon her people, her children, and loved them all the same, from youngest drone to wizened potal. Even Daughter Ula, beloved and shining, had once answered to their call, bowed to the needs and rules of the colony.
But something had happened. So slowly it had been difficult to notice. So slowly that now it was simply too late.
He was mired in it, the ichor that seeped from the Viceroy’s mouths, the dark peals of their laughter and sharp twist of their wicked hand. He had bent, so slowly, beneath their patient hands into the form that they preferred.
No longer a pillar, but a paver beneath their feet. A solid foundation to walk upon, no longer active, but still complicit in the house of lies that they had built, kept face down under their heel and in the darkness, the stars and the sky so far from his reach.
He could not tell you where it started, not truly, but he could tell you where it ended.
With blood soaked hands raised to blood streaked lips, mouthing in silent horror –
“What happened to me…?”