(Final part)

Long after cities turned to stone,
And time outpaced both flesh and throne,
When Earth itself had changed her face—
The sky still whispered of her grace.

No books remain, no sacred rite,
No fortress carved in crystal light.
Her statue crumbled to the sand,
Her symbol lost to wind and land.

But in the orbit no one sees,
Above the dust, above the seas,
A silent trail still sometimes flares—
A comet's ghost that splits the air.

They say she flew until the end,
A streak of fire the stars defend.
No grave, no tomb, no final place—
Just space enough to leave a trace.


And though no voice can speak her tale,
The galaxies still show the veil
Of golden light and crimson hue
That once she wore, when skies were blue.

No monument survives her fall—
Except the sky that watched it all.
The stars that saw her world ignite,
Then held her in this world of light.

And now, when silence wraps the void,
And lesser myths have been destroyed,
A child might ask the dark above:
"Who made the stars feel grief—and love?"

Then mothers speak in softened tones
Of one who rose from burning stones.
Not born of Earth, yet more its soul
Than any name on mortal scroll.

She flew to save, she flew to mourn,
A daughter twice, a goddess torn.
Not for the glory, not for pride—
But for the world that never died.

So if you see a flare of gold
Across the black, serene and bold—
Do not forget what silence hides:
The last of red suns still abides.

Kara Zor-El.
She did not vanish.
She became the sky.