I wait.

Energy drains from my people. Their forms dissipate, powering the happenstance we fought so hard to prevent. Energy becomes matter and matter becomes energy, in a vortex that transforms the icy wastes into the seed of a new world.

I can't help but feel a bit amused at the irony. Oh, it's not because it's a new world borne from our destruction of their world - that'd be exceptionally obvious -, but because, in the end, I kind of enjoy this. It's something hard to describe, even for your ostensibly lesser mind, but I think you can relate. You thrive off the need to create, and so do I.

Once, I rose up the ranks of my people precisely because of this feeling. I wanted to create something new, to remaster the old in an image I found apropriate. Not because I had greater plans or even because I wanted power, no, just the simple need to generate something, to create, to express.

I think you humans call it "art". I'm not inclined to disagree, just maybe in the product-intention dichotomy. I must rather enjoy destruction for the sake of something new than a simple expression of one's emotions or drive for perfection. The act is all that matters.

The light of this new world increases, my own form dissipating. I feel pain, but it's a glorious kind of pain, the same feeling of my ascension several millenia ago, but far more intense.

I wait, alive or otherwise, for your answer.