And I saw, too, how little time that was, how little I meant—had meant in the cosmic balance. I was nothing at all. The barest drop in a limitless ocean. One photon against the infinite Dark. One is enough. The voice that whispered to me then was not my own, nor was it Ushara’s. It was not Gibson’s voice, or Valka’s. It was no voice at all, hardly to be heard. But it was right. Had I not seen—had I not been shown—had I so easily forgotten how fragile the darkness is? One photon was enough to hold it back.
