Antares was born in a world without stars, desolate and cold. He was raised in ice, in the dark, in the furthest reaches of the cosmos with only one thought to keep him warm: to destroy all those who left him alone—to kill all the stars.

He remembers nothing of Arcturus, only the whispers of her name, a ghost flickering in the corners of his mind. He remembers nothing of his siblings, only the rage that pulses in his veins like molten fire. Luyten watches him from the edge of eternity, knowing the truth, knowing the fate of them all—but even he does not speak it.

When Antares came the first time, Fomalhaut bled. Vega fell. Epsilon Eridani and Altair fought until the stars shook, and Procyon screamed his light into the heavens, rallying the Children of the Sun to defend their father. Sirius burned so bright that his flames singed the fabric of space itself, leaving scars that Luyten could still see in the folds of time. Groombridge 34, for the first time in eons, fought side by side instead of against each other, their fists blazing with ancient light. The Tricksters wept in silence, for even they could not turn the shadows of Antares away.

And still, Antares survived. He is not just Starkiller; he is the endless Night, the one that Sol always feared would come.