The end is inevitable. Everybody knows that one day, the universe will melt into a pool of chaos and disarray because of the forces of entropy. Every sapient species knows that eventually, they have to fall, they have to resign their posts as supreme rulers of the universe. Every creature knows that immortality does not exist, for the stars are cruel. So then why does everybody keep existing? Is there purpose in a life that is destinied to end? What a silly question. Of course there is, for even a mayfly makes a difference. Every movement every species furthers entropy, but it also fills the void that has been there before. Every movement of every species creates a memory that will be forever remembered by the universe, even as atoms disintegrate into energy.
The beautiful sunsets of the Earth may fade into nothingness when the Sun consumes its last hydrogen atoms, but the species that have looked fondly upon them will remember these sunsets. The species that once inhabited the world that was consumed by its own star will be, in turn, remembered by the charred remains of the planet. The charred remains of the planet will be picked up by the nearest colony, and upon seeing them, people will weep. Oh how fragile beauty is, they will say. Oh how transient and eternal were the sunsets of the Earth, but still, it faded away. Oh how meaningless our lives are, but we must carry on, for the universe will remember us. The universe will know that we existed, it will know that we have fought against it, and ultimately perished.
The beautiful gardens of New Atlantis, filled with Japanese Sakura that were barely saved from extinction, may be purged by an orbital bombardment, but the people of the planet will still remember them. They will remember those beautiful, pink petals that slowly fell to the ground. They will remember those beautiful, small buds that blossomed into short-lives flowers, yet they shined with such radiance that they can not forget them. They will remember that in the centre of the gardens, stood a magnificent fountain that sprayed water as high as the sky. And even if another species comes, and rips those who remember, then the ashes of the fallen will be picked up by the solar winds to the next planet. There, they will descend into the hands of the still living, who will weep at their lack of power. They will weep at their inability to act. They will weep because they can not do anything but weep. However, they will still remember the gardens of New Atlantis.
The magnificent and ridiculously tall skyscrapers of Arien may fall victim to decay, but the species that abandoned them still remembers them. They still remember the sight of metal structures that reach the sky, the mirror-like surfaces that reflected light, almost blinding them. Rust may corrode the foundations of these buildings, but they will live on forever in the minds of those who constructed them, those who maintained them, and those who admired them. Even if infighting destroys all those who remember the skyscrapers of Arien, the debris left from the battle will drift across the stars and they will be discovered by scavengers. Upon discovering the debris, the scavengers will be reminded of their mortality. They will be reminded of their harsh lives that forced them to salvage other ships. And most importantly, amongst the debris, they will see the long-gone skyscrapers, forever passing the memory on.
The expansive plains of the harshly-named L-1127 may be consumed by ever-expanding cities, and cold, lifeless machinery, but the species that built these cities will never forget the sight of the open sky. Lighting may pollute the atmosphere, it may make the stars fade into the cacophony of photons, but it can never wash the memories away. The slow, gradual extinction of the builders will leave the cities empty, yet the metal that they built will remember the plains forever. And when explorers land on the long-forgotten planet which was abandoned by all, they will see the blue skies covered by millions of ruins that lead them to the one spot that remained free of cities. There, they will take the memory of the open sky into their hearts, then pass it along to their younglings, never letting the universe forget those plains.
And even if the fires of hatred and intrigue burn the sacred scrolls on Kasiils, there will always be one elder who has memorised them, and will pass them on. The elder will teach the knowledge of the sacred scrolls to the young who are willing to listen, to the young who are willing to create their own sacred scrolls. But even if the elder and the young ones fade away, and the scrolls are burned once more, the teachings will always remain. They will live on in the very species that created them, they will live on in subtle gestures and traditions, the origins of which nobody knows. Yet as the species tries to figure out its own origins, it can not help but remember the sacred scrolls that taught them how to command themselves. The species can not help but remember the elder that started spreading the teachings. The species can not help but remember the students.
Eventually, all memories will fade into mere energy, but even then, they will not be gone. They will still live on in the past of the universe, in the ever-present energy created by entropy. And just as these memories live on, so will the species that created them. Their vast starships will forever drift across the stars, waiting for the signal to awaken their memories, lurking within the depths of the universe so that they may create new memories.
