The desolate landscape stretched beneath an inky shroud, rain lashing the broken pavement in a melancholic drumbeat against the backdrop of a ruined world. Crumbling monuments, and skeletal fingers reaching for a sky choked with dark clouds, stood as chilling testaments to a lost civilization. Gone was the laughter that once echoed through vibrant cities. Now, an oppressive silence reigned, broken only by the rumble of distant thunder – nature's mournful echo for a world devoured by war.

In the heart of this desolation, a lone figure knelt amidst a vast crater, the remnants of a colossal battle. His once-proud form was slumped, a mere shadow against the immensity of the destruction. Streaks of grime ran through his matted white hair, partially obscuring a face etched with the weariness of decades. Each ragged breath rasped from his throat, a testament to the toll time and hardship had taken. The armor that once adorned him, a symbol of past glory, was now cracked and tarnished, a decaying shell mirroring the state of the world around him.

Hundreds of meters above, a creature unlike anything from Earth hovered, its obsidian skin gleaming under the storm's fury. Lava-red eyes burned with malevolent hunger as it regarded the last survivor of the human race.

"Human," the creature boomed, its voice a tremor that rattled the shattered pavement. "Your pitiful species has finally reached its end. This world, soaked in the blood of countless generations, will be cleansed. Hand over the mana core, and perhaps your demise will be swift."

A flicker of defiance sparked in the man's eyes, a spark quickly extinguished by the weight of his despair. Years, perhaps even decades, had blurred together in this desolate wasteland. Memories, the only solace in this endless night, were a double-edged sword. The echoes of laughter, the warmth of his wife's embrace – each precious fragment only amplified the emptiness that surrounded him. He barely lifted his head, his gaze empty. How many months, or years had passed? He had already forgotten.

Tears, a silent proof of his loss, traced glistening paths through the grime on his cheeks. It was too late for sorrow, too late for regrets. Yet, amidst the crushing despair, a strange sensation bloomed in his chest. A faint white light pulsed beneath the ground, emanating from the strange veins that bound him to the earth. These weren't just restraints; they were a tether, a faint connection to a forgotten power.

The alien descended slowly, its massive form dwarfing the crater. "When we came to this planet," it spoke, its voice laced with disdain, "you ugly humans were fighting amongst yourselves for many years. Destruction, killing – you had the audacity to call us monsters."

The man's gaze flickered towards the creature, a flicker of defiance momentarily replacing the despair. He remembered the wars, the senseless violence, the fractured human race. Shame burned in his gut, but it was quickly eclipsed by a surge of anger. They had been flawed, yes, but they had also known love, compassion, and the will to fight for something better.

"You are right," the man rasped, his voice rough with disuse. "We were far from perfect. But we were learning, and growing. We had the potential for greatness… something you seem incapable of understanding."

A scoff rumbled from the creature's chest. "Potential? You humans are like insects, scrambling for scraps in the dirt. You cling to pathetic notions of hope and love, while true power lies in strength and dominance."

The man closed his eyes, a single tear escaping and tracing a glistening path down his cheek. He could almost hear the whispers – the echoes of countless voices, stories passed down through generations, tales of resilience and unity in the face of overwhelming odds. He remembered the final stand, the desperate alliance forged in the face of annihilation. They had fought not out of strength, but out of a desperate hope for a future they might never see.

"Strength is not the only measure of power," the man countered, when he opened his eyes, a newfound resolve glinting within them. "We fight for something, for the ones we love, for a future we believe in. What do you fight for? Conquest? Annihilation?"

This line of thought seemed to baffle the alien. It had traversed countless worlds and encountered numerous civilizations, but none had spoken of things like love and hope. For the first time, a flicker of something akin to curiosity crossed its lava-red eyes.

"Love? Hope? These are meaningless concepts, tools for the weak to cling to," it rumbled, its voice laced with confusion. "Strength is all that matters. It is the only path to survival."

The man shook his head, a wry smile twisting his lips. "Survival may be all you understand, but it's not all there is," he finished, his voice gaining strength with every word. "We humans built more than just weapons and machines. We created art, music, and stories that echoed through the ages. We strove for something better, for a future filled with compassion and understanding. Even in our darkest moments, that spark of hope flickered on."

The alien hovered silently, its gaze fixed on the man. The rain continued to lash the broken pavement, the wind howling a mournful dirge. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

"Perhaps," the alien finally conceded, its voice a low rumble. "Perhaps there is more to existence than conquest and domination. But it is too late for your species. You have wasted your potential, consumed by infighting and greed."

The man's smile turned melancholic. "We made mistakes, that much is true. But even in our failures, we learned, we grew. We may not have achieved greatness, but we never stopped striving for it."

A tremor shook the ground as the alien descended further, its obsidian form blotting out the storm-wracked sky. "Enough of this philosophical debate, human. I require the mana core. This world will be cleansed, and its energy will fuel my conquest."

A surge of defiance coursed through the man. He might be the last survivor, but he wouldn't go down without a fight. He wouldn't let this alien destroy his home, the world that held the memories of his ancestors, the dreams of a future that would never be.

"The mana core is a part of this world," he declared, his voice ringing with newfound determination. "It is not yours to take. You'll have to destroy me first."

The alien let out a roar that echoed across the desolate landscape. "So be it! You will perish along with your pathetic planet!"

A blinding white light erupted from the veins that bound the man to the earth. Images flooded his mind – forgotten battle tactics, arcane symbols, whispers of forgotten deities. This wasn't his power alone, he realized with a jolt. It was the collective will of a dying race, funneled through him, the last survivor. With a gasp, he rose to his feet, the veins glowing brighter and etching themselves across his weathered skin like a luminous tattoo. The pain was excruciating, but it was dwarfed by the sudden surge of power coursing through his veins.

"You will not destroy my world," he declared, his voice no longer a raspy whisper but a booming command that echoed across the desolate landscape. "This is my home, and I will defend it with my last breath!"

"You fool, it's too late. Just die peacefully. I can find the mana core myself, " shouted the alien.

Huge veins covered in white mist rose from the ground as the alien exploded with his full force in trying to attack the old man.

"Ender..."

...

"Ender..."

"Ender... wake up, you don't have much time left."

As the old man woke up from his dreams, a voice sounded in his mind, calling him. It was a sweet woman's voice, shattered by sadness and grief at the same time.

"Oh, my dear child," the voice echoed in his mind, tinged with a feeling of deep sorrow, "You are the only one left, the last sliver of hope we have."

"W-Who are you?" Ender rasped, his voice dry and cracked from disuse. The very foundation of his sanity felt like crumbling sand.

A pause stretched between them, heavy with unspoken despair. Finally, the voice sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of ages.

"Who am I? ... I forgot my real name a long, long time ago. It doesn't matter anymore. I am the Will of this dying world," it spoke, the words imbued with a profound weariness.

Understanding flickered in Ender's eyes, swiftly extinguished by a wave of confusion. "The Will of the world...?" he stammered. Everything felt surreal, a waking nightmare blurring the lines between reality and delusion.

Suddenly, the world around him dissolved. A blinding white light engulfed him, replacing the desolation with a sensation of profound peace. No darkness, no gnawing hunger, no relentless fight for survival. Just… peace. He hadn't felt this in decades, perhaps centuries.

Stunned by this abrupt shift, he spun around, his aged body reacting with surprising agility. And there she stood, the most exquisite woman he had ever seen. Her attire was simplicity itself - a long, flowing white dress adorned with delicate silver threads. Her raven hair cascaded down her back, adorned with intricate ornaments that shimmered with an otherworldly light. Her face, flawless and oval-shaped, held a heartbreaking beauty accentuated by the tears of blood that streamed down her cheeks.

For a moment, Ender could only stare, speechless. Then, he shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs of disbelief. "Who… what are you?" he stammered, his voice hoarse.

A sad smile graced her lips, a stark contrast to the tears tracing crimson paths down her porcelain skin. With a flick of her wrist, the white light coalesced, forming a platform before them. Upon it, a holographic image flickered to life – a grotesque monstrosity, its obsidian skin shimmering under the storm's fury, its eyes burning with malevolent hunger. It was the Darkain, attacking the very veins of light that pulsed beneath the ground.

"I can hold him off for a little while," the woman explained, her voice soft yet laced with urgency. "Five minutes, at most."

"But what can I do? It's all lost," Ender said, his voice thick with despair and a tinge of resentment. A million questions bubbled within him – who was she? Why hadn't the Will of the world intervened before, when his world was still teeming with life? There was so much he needed to know, but somewhere deep down, he knew this wasn't the time.

"I understand your anger," she said, her voice gentle, as if she could peer into the depths of his soul. "You have many questions, and I wouldn't blame you for hating me. But please, Ender, we're running out of time."

He clenched his fists, a surge of anger battling with the knowledge of their dire situation. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice hard yet laced with a sliver of hope.

She offered him a hand, a warm smile blooming on her face. "Come with me," she said, her voice a soothing balm to his raging emotions.

Without hesitation, Ender grasped her hand. The world dissolved around them once more, replaced by the inky blackness of space. He gasped, a primal fear gripping him as he saw his beloved Rion – his home – half-destroyed, a gaping wound on its surface. It seemed to hang precariously in space, like a fragile ornament about to shatter.

"This is what's left of me, of this planet," she said, her voice heavy with sorrow. With a flick of her wrist, the scene shifted. This time, Ender witnessed a horrifying spectacle – planets much like his own, populated by humans, dwarfs, elves, and other fantastical beings – all ravaged by the same grotesque creatures he faced now.

The images blurred into a montage of destruction. Each planet, vibrant and teeming with life, succumbed to the Darkains' insatiable hunger.

A wave of sadness washed over Ender. He wasn't just witnessing the destruction of worlds; he was feeling the collective grief of countless lost civilizations. 'How many have fallen?' he thought, a cold dread settling in his stomach. 'How many civilizations, how many dreams were extinguished by these monsters? Rion could be next. No, it will be next. But I won't let it end here. Not without a fight.' The images blurred into a white void once more. He stood frozen, his mind reeling from the sheer enormity of what he had witnessed. The Darkains weren't just a threat to Rion; they were a plague, consuming galaxies and leaving behind nothing but lifeless husks.

"Rion is the last one," the woman said, her words echoing in the vast emptiness. "The last planet left in this corner of the universe. After your death, and the destruction of Rion, this entire galaxy will be devoid of life. The Darkains will simply move on, their hunger sated for a time, until they find another unsuspecting corner of the cosmos to ravage."

The weight of this revelation crashed upon Ender like a meteor. He was the last survivor, not just of his world, but of an entire galactic civilization. A wave of despair threatened to engulf him, but a flicker of defiance sparked in his eyes. He wouldn't go down without a fight.

"But… what can I do?" he rasped. "I'm just one old man, broken and weary. How can I possibly hope to defeat such a monstrous force?"

A hint of sorrow clouded the woman's beautiful face. "There is only one hope," she said. "And though it may sound fantastical, it is our only chance."

Intrigued despite his anguish, Ender leaned in, a thirst for knowledge battling the exhaustion gnawing at him. "What hope?"

A gentle smile touched her lips. "For the first time in my existence," she began, "I am not alone. Every world the Darkains have devoured… every planet snuffed out by their insatiable hunger… possesses a Will like me."

Ender's brow furrowed. "A Will?"

"Yes," she explained, her voice gaining a note of power. "The collective spirit, the life essence of a world. We are the embodiment of a planet's soul, its will to survive."

A glimmer of understanding dawned on Ender. "So… the other Wills… they're here too?"

She nodded, her hand gesturing behind him. Slowly, a multitude of ethereal figures materialized from the white light, their forms shimmering like translucent crystals. Sorrow and defiance radiated from them, a silent testament to the worlds they had lost.

"These are the Wills of the fallen planets," the woman explained. "Together, for the first time, we are united in a single purpose – your survival, Ender. We can offer you something that has never been attempted before – a surge of collective power, a chance to fight back."

Ender stared at the gathering of Wills, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within him. Hope, long dormant, flickered to life. But with it came a new wave of fear. This power they offered… was it enough? Could he, a single man, become the instrument of their vengeance, the last stand against a galaxy-consuming threat?

As if sensing his doubt, the woman extended her hand, her touch surprisingly warm.

"We believe in you, Ender," she said, her voice filled with unwavering conviction. "You are the culmination of generations, the embodiment of your world's fighting spirit. With our combined essence, you have the potential to become something more – a warrior, a beacon of hope for a galaxy on the brink of oblivion."

Ender looked into her tear-filled eyes, seeing not just his own despair reflected therein, but the unyielding spirit of countless lost civilizations. Shame tinged with a steely resolve hardened his features. He wouldn't let them down. He wouldn't let Rion be another casualty in this cosmic war.

Taking a deep breath, Ender met her gaze, his voice ringing with newfound determination. "What do I need to do?"

Across the vast expanse, bathed in the golden caress of a distant sunrise, a weathered house stood sentinel. Inside, a small room offered a stark counterpoint to Ender's celestial encounter. Sparsely furnished with a bed, a chair, and a dusty table, the room felt heavy with the weight of illness.

The once-white walls sported a sickly yellow hue, the floor a treacherous dance of splintered wood. In the bed, a figure lay shrouded in a thin blanket, his black hair obscuring his face. Though obscured, prominent cheekbones and pallid skin hinted at a life ravaged by disease.

That wasn't a prison, but the bedroom of a 20-year-old boy, Jayden, locked in a relentless battle against his own body.

A rare form of osteomalacia disease, a cruel twist of fate, had cast a long shadow over his life. Diagnosed at a young age, his bones became brittle as porcelain, each movement a potential fracture. The orphanage, meant for a sanctuary, turned into a breeding ground for bullying. The other children, fueled by a lack of understanding and their own insecurities, saw Jayden's frailty as an invitation for cruelty.

His only solace came from Mary, the woman who took him in and fought for him. With a fierce maternal love, she shielded him from the worst of the world, creating a haven within the harsh walls of the orphanage. But even Mary's love couldn't alter the harsh reality. As he grew older, the worry in her eyes mirrored his own fading hope. He felt a pang of guilt, a burden he couldn't escape. He found solace in reading, devouring fantastical tales of brave heroes and impossible journeys. These stories, filled with adventure and escape, offered a temporary haven from the confines of his room.

As Mary bustled about the room, setting a tray on the table beside his bed, a worn book peeked out from beneath his pillow. It was a well-loved copy of a classic adventure story, its pages worn thin from countless rereads. The fantastical tales of brave heroes and impossible journeys offered a temporary escape from the confines of his room.

"Here you go, dear," Mary said, placing a bowl of steaming broth and a slice of bread on the tray. "You barely ate yesterday."

Jayden winced as he tried to lift himself up, the effort sending a wave of pain through his body. Mary, ever-attendant, helped him sit upright, placing pillows behind his back for support.

"Thanks, Mary," he murmured, taking a cautious sip of the broth. "You shouldn't worry about me so much."

Mary's smile was strained. "It's hard not to worry, Jayden. You're my son."

A lump formed in Jayden's throat. He knew the toll his illness was taking on her, the constant worry etched into her features. "I'm sorry," he whispered, guilt gnawing at him.

Mary reached out and squeezed his hand, her touch warm and comforting. "No apologies needed, sweetheart. You did nothing wrong. It's just… unfair."

He nodded, understanding the frustration that mirrored his own. His life, stolen by a cruel twist of fate, felt like a cruel joke. All he ever wanted was a chance to experience the world beyond these four walls, to run and play like other kids.

But reality was a cold slap. He was trapped, a prisoner in his own body. Yet, despite the despair, a flicker of defiance sparked within him. Giving up wasn't an option. He had to find a way to live, even if it was just for Mary.

Taking another sip of the broth, he forced a smile. "Maybe tomorrow will be a better day, right?"

Mary returned his smile, a hint of hope shimmering in her eyes. "Maybe tomorrow the sun will shine a little brighter," she agreed, her voice filled with a quiet strength.

___________________________________________________

Back in the void, bathed in an ethereal white light, Ender found himself overwhelmed by the sheer number of Wills gathered around him. Each one shimmered with a different hue, reflecting the essence of their lost worlds – sapphire blues for a watery planet, emerald greens for a forest-covered one. Yet, despite their various colors, a unified desperation resonated across the vast emptiness.

A chorus of voices, each echoing from a different direction, filled the void. "We are with you, Ender." The voices coalesced into a single, booming entity. "You are our last hope."

Ender, still reeling from the revelation of their existence, managed to find his voice. "But… why me? I'm just an old man, broken and weary."

A collective sigh, like the wind rustling through forgotten forests, emanated from the Wills. "You are the culmination," the voice explained. "Throughout your world's history, the spirit of defiance, the will to survive, has been passed down through generations. You embody that spirit, Ender."

Doubt still gnawed at him. "But how? Can I really face these… Darkains? They seem unstoppable."

"Alone, perhaps not," another voice whispered, soft yet filled with an ancient power. It came from a Will radiating a cool sapphire glow, a display of a watery world long gone.

A hush fell over the gathered Wills. Their ethereal forms seemed to shift and pulsate with a shared decision.

"We offer you a choice, Ender," the first voice announced, its tone grave. "A single, extraordinary wish. Use it wisely."

Ender's heart hammered in his chest. A wish? This was not what he'd expected. He envisioned a grand battle, a clash of wills, not a solitary choice. He looked at the Wills, each a beacon of a lost world, their essence shimmering with a desperate plea.

He thought of his own world, the faces of his loved ones, the future hanging in the balance. He clenched his fists, a surge of determination coursing through him.

"Tell me more about this wish," Ender said, his voice steady despite the turmoil within.

The Wills seemed to coalesce, their combined knowledge forming a coherent explanation. They spoke of the power they could grant – immense power, the likes of which he could scarcely comprehend. They spoke of abilities that could alter the very fabric of reality, possibilities that stretched the boundaries of his imagination.

As Ender listened, a seed of hope bloomed in his chest. He had a choice, a chance to fight back, not just for his own world, but for the remnants of a thousand others. But the weight of that responsibility settled upon him like a leaden cloak.

The decision that would shape the fate of countless beings swirled in his mind. The silence in the void stretched on, broken only by the faint hum of residual celestial energy. Finally, with a deep breath, Ender came to his resolve.

"I have chosen my wish," he declared, his voice ringing with newfound determination. The Wills stirred, anticipation crackling in the air.

The first voice boomed. "And what is your wish, Ender of Rion?"

Ender closed his eyes, picturing his world, its vibrant landscapes, and the laughter of children playing. He envisioned a future where all worlds could rebuild, free from the threat of the Darkains.

He took another deep breath and spoke, his voice echoing through the void. "My wish…" he began, his words hanging heavy in the air, a promise of a fight yet to come.