The flame burns at its brightest, shortly before it dies.
At least that's what they say.
Relatively speaking if one would ask me. Might even be true from another perspective. But I have never felt more weak than I do now. There were many situations that made me contemplate my life's journey. In none of them did the end attend with death. No death. Just another day.

Now, as I stand here with my friend, comrade-in-arms - glued together to some sort of family in the heat of all the battles we endured – now as I stand here with her, a pillar of light in that darkness...
...it seems like there never were anything else but that creeping void. No other day. Just
one
endless
night.
Yesterday, wine warmed my throat and laughter my soul. Now it’s the back of my companion. Not even her fire imbued hands seem to be able to counter the cold which they wield like winter the frigid bone-chilling wind. But it was that crawling mist, which cloaked our feet from our sight, that ushered the first frost to my heart. All of this – silent heralds of our end. We heard the stories.
Now it’s our turn.
The singing of the birds succumbed to them long ago and the sun would rise nevermore. One last time would it shine through my companion and I.
To what end though? We will be nothing more than a smoldering match in the biting white of a withering year.
Still, she stands behind me, as if she would be an impenetrable wall and nothing could stab me in my back, as long as she is there.

The stars may have given up on us, for even they do not bestow a glimmer anymore. But if it is for nothing and no one else, I will at least, one last time, be a shimmer for you.

In this eternal darkness a spark can shine like a thunderbolt in the storm of night.
They might extinguish us in the end.
But we’ll be sure to leave a mark.