To speak of a cosmic war is to risk making it sounddistant, ceremonial, almost abstract-an argumentamong powers too vast to touch the skin. But theconflict at the center of this world does not remain inthe heavens. It leaks downward. It gathers in themarrow of history, in the pauses before a confession, inthe moment a hand refuses to strike, in the instant a liebecomes easier than the truth. The grand struggle isnot suspended above mortal life like a banner in acathedral. It enters the blood. It alters inheritance. Itwaits inside grief, ambition, loyalty, and fear until thoseordinary human things become the very terrain onwhich empires of light and ruin contend.
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