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[indent][indent]The world of Arceus had fallen silent, low murmuring and whispers filled the streets, just barely more audible than the empty vacuum of space around the Ivrah homeworld. They had been given greatness by their Mon'hali creators, who made them with brilliant minds and stout hearts. They had been guided by the Mon'hali Prophets, those few who had stayed to oversee the growth of their creations, facilitating the race in its infancy to help navigate the galaxy they were born unto. It was far different than the one which the Mon'hali had faced at their creation; unlike the Ivrah, they had fought tooth, nail, claw, blade and bullet just to survive, their galaxy was wrought with conflict as the void lit up with munitions and energy beams and entire worlds burned in the hell of war.

Once they were of many, even in the perilous era of near-constant warfare, but then, there were only a few dozen, and now there was but one, last one; the last line in a proud, martial race but saw what their wars had done. Some might have even considered a miracle on how the Mon'hali was even able to ever ascend like so many before them, but they brokered enough peace to allow them rite to the world beyond. The Prophets who stayed were like old, shell shock veterans but parents and guardians to the Ivrah none the less, and the Ivrah wouldn't have wanted anyone else to guide them.

But age had claimed them one by one like dominos, even their implants and treatments they may have enjoyed were no longer with the Reclamation they had preformed. And so, as the number of Mon'hali shrunk and fell, their reverence only increase. And now, there was only one and he was dying: Prophet Glura'ha, the Scholar of Old.

Outside the Palace Magnus, there was a mass congregation of of a somber mass, low chants and prayers would only be able to stall the inevitable even if they did work. On the inside however, the Magnus was in private with the last Prophet, concerned about how to go from here, "For generations, you and you companions had guided us, since the days of my great-grandfather. So long we fooled ourselves into thinking that you were immortal and that you could stay by ourside forever. Now I wish each second to be years just so you may stay with us o great Prophet Glura'ha."

"Vaeto... I have seen and heard many things in my life. War, peace, chaos, order, destruction, creation, death... and finally birth. All of these are inevitabilities... not even the Aztrovans could run from them forever." the dying beast of a person coughed up as he was hooked up to the finest medical machinery created by the Ivrah.

"It does not ease the pain of your passing; the ending of a life is a tragedy to all beings." Sighed the Magnus of the Ivrah, rolling his hands between each other as he looked at the poor, once-proud beastly figure of Glura'ah now confined to the bed with wires and needles and tubes all over his mantle.

"To you it does... to me... it does not.... funny how conflict does that to one... of the blood." The Prophet's voice was becoming increasingly muted as his breath and heart rate also slowed

"I only wish that your kind could guide us longer for we have much to learn, virgins in the void of unknown."

"Calm my child... you will do well. We Mon'hali failed to preserve much... of what we could have given you due to our endless wars... but you are not Mon'hali... you are Irvah, smart and talented... meant for better things than continuous cycles of conflict. We too... were... once in your spot as the stories are told... only never afford the luxury of a... proper... conversation. Still, we prayed and hoped that there... was something that would keep our own creators... alive just for an extra day... but they too eventually left us for higher realms."

"I suppose you are right great Prophet, I should not keep you waiting any longer, your brothers await."

"Indeed they do.... Please, make it quick and clean.... One right about... here should do it... It has been an honor... fair Magnus Vaeto IV, ruler of the Irvah... may you ascend to greater worlds... Dsang Khalhei... my child..." Glura'ha pointed to a location on his chiseled chest, still as impressive as it was so many years ago, and weakly saluted as Vaeto's cerimonial knife hovered above it.

"Its been an been a great honor, Prophet Glura'ah, the Scholar of Old, last of the Mon'hali. Dsang Khalhei, my father." With a simple, hard push, the blade pierced the last Mon'hali's flesh and hide and the blade's poison went to work; he wouldn't feel anything but a release from his mortal coil, now to finally join his brothers in death, "Farewell great Prophet, may you rejoin the Aztrovans and ascend the a world beyond."

The Mol'hali's body was quickly then wheeled away, no doubt in preparation for a Grand Entombment, an ornate and extravagant burial ritual reserved for the Prophets; Glura'ah had seen many of them but now he would join the rest of his kind in death. Vaeto on the other hand was busy, cleaning and washing as he donned a new robe, embroiled with the finest fabrics and delicate decorations, and golden fittings for Magnus, intricately carved and crafted with beauty but modern style. He was to give a cerimonial speech as was tradition as taught by the Prophets for when the last of them died. By now, the crowd outside had shifted from a somber tone to a more upbeat and proud note with chants and banners rising.

A guard opened the door as Magnus Vaeto IV, dressed and dolled up in his finest outfit, stepped out on to the balcony over looking a courtyard filled with his people and situated himself on the podium. Camera drones where on him as his face was spread across screens across many planets, moons and outposts, his voice transcending that of his simple vocal cords and with a confident smile, he began his speech titled, [i]"the Birth of an Era Anew."[/i][/indent][/indent]