This spoils the heck out of the very end of the miniseries, so selenak, et. al., you can't read this yet.
And Still You Live
It had troubled him for several solar days- a tingling, burning itch that wove hidden tendrils beneath his mask. It was this itch that drove him off his sleeping pallet and to the edge of a nearby lake just before the sunrise.
The lake was still and clear, its surface glistening like polished glass. Its banks were framed on all sides by trees, their branches stretching into the brightening sky, their blue-green leaves seeming to capture and hold the early morning mist.
This was, indeed, the perfect place for the Eidelons to settle and rebuild.
Stark fell to his knees, leaned over the water’s edge, and clawed at his mask, removing it with a hiss of discomfort. At the sight of his reflection, he instantly froze.
Threads of dark tissue stretched across the void, intermingling, forming a web through which the energy dimly shined. Stark reached up and gingerly touched the scars, his mouth open slightly in disbelieving wonder. The flesh was rough beneath his fingers.
“It has begun.”
Stark started at the voice and scrabbled to turn. Motras away, Noranti regarded him with concern and interest, her third eye shining blue. “What?” he said. “What’s happening to me?”
“The healing.” Noranti approached until Stark was surrounded by the scent of her. Crouching to his level, she asked, “Can you hear them?”
Stark closed his eye and drew a slow breath, allowing himself to open fully, to stretch his mind to its edges. “Yes…” he breathed, “but only whispers. And… and it doesn’t hurt as much.” His eye fluttered open. “How? Yondalao?”
“No. He was merely the facilitator.”
“I-I don’t understand.”
“So many cycles in the darkness and still you live.” The blue of Noranti’s eye pulsed deeper, seizing Stark's gaze and holding him transfixed. “An Eidelon’s power can only enhance what already exists.”
A pale, desperately thin child rose unsteadily amidst a sea of dead and dying. The explosion had opened a wound on his forehead, and he had to blink furiously to clear the blood and tears from his eye. But still, he did his duty.
“This is you.”
A young man, his jaw line shaded by new stubble, lay curled on his mat, whimpering from the pain of the fresh welts that crisscrossed his back. When the young woman collapsed beside him, weeping, begging that her father be spared further pain, he wanted so much to refuse, to retreat into troubled sleep. But still, he stood.
“This is you.”
A prisoner screamed, his mind ablaze, spittle dribbling down his chin, his clothes damp with his own urine. But still, he fought.
“This is you.”
A man sat in the darkness of his room, rocking, holding his head against the onslaught of voices that threatened to swallow everything he was. Many nights- and many days- he was seized by this terror. But still he struggled and loved and hoped and tried so desperately to live.
“Can you feel it? The healing- the strength- comes from you. Yondalao has only helped you to find it.” A tear tracked down Stark’s cheek and Noranti wiped it away with her palm. “This is only the beginning. What happens now depends on you.”
Stark broke from Noranti’s touch and turned to face the lake again. As new sunshine warmed his face, he lightly touched his reflection on the water's surface and watched the ripples spread beyond his sight.