And, suddenly, it came. The sky fell upon him like one great weight. The clouds splintered his joints and the sunrise itself pierced through him like a great spear. His hair fell over his eyes, matted and graying as the acute agony in his chest numbed to an empty dullness. Atlas could see the stars themselves falling. They nearly seemed to dance, twirling feverishly about their leader, Earendil Hub of the Sky. The stars spoke in high, elvish voices, laughing and screaming and falling all at once. And the voices of the gods were mixed in with theirs, whispers of ridicule and uproarious laughter. They watched Atlas bleed.