You are dead, young Auryx. Betrayed and murdered by your own sister, for the crime of mercy.
Remember what you said to the Ammonite Satellite Congress? ‘We will parley on neutral ground?’ Savathûn’s witches have rendered it utterly neutral. No living thing will ever claim it again. The space around the dry moon stinks of rot.
This is good. This is right. You will learn from this. Don’t you understand, great King? Don’t you want to build something real, something that lasts forever?
Our universe gutters down towards cold entropy. Life is an engine that burns up energy and produces decay. Life builds selfish, stupid rules — morality is one of them, and the sanctity of life is another.
These rules are impediments to the great work. The work of building a perfect, undying creation, a civilization everlasting. Something that cannot end.
If a civilization cannot defend itself, it must be annihilated. If a King cannot hold his power, he must be betrayed. The worth of a thing can be determined only by one beautiful arbiter — that thing’s ability to exist, to go on existing, to remake existence to suit its survival.
All that would oppose this arbiter is unholy and false. All the misery and terror of your ancestors springs from the lies of the Sky, who deny this truth.
Your ancestors endured the most hostile conditions. And now you must go on creating those conditions. Even unto your sisters. Even unto your offspring. Savathûn’s betrayal is the greatest gift she could offer you.
Your body is gone, but you have endured. Safe in the cyst universe created by your own might — your throne world.
From this day forward, Auryx, you and your sisters will each survive death — so long as you aren’t killed in your own throne.
Even as your sisters press the attack against the Ammonites, the God-Wave devastates Fundament. Trillions will die. But the survivors will never forget... and their descendants will always be ready for another syzygy.
When you return to the material universe, use this lesson to complete your work.
Taox wasn’t on the dry moon. She must be laughing at you.