Sometime, deep in the future, after all of this is over, far away from the here and now, whoever's left will look back and write about this month we've had.
They'll tell stories about how thousands gathered in the overgrown statuaries of an abandoned world and waited to be judged by a once absent god. They'll write about the day a little fleet of mischief and wrath became a state onto itself, unanchored and hungry. They'll sing about the moment that the freelancer became a fisher of planets.
But I wonder if anyone will be left who remembers, or if anyone outside even noticed that day, when halfway across the sector, flakes of snow drifted down into the massive crater bored into the side of the planet Ionias, as something very old and very cruel felt the light of the stars for the first time in ages.