I am the pulse in the void, beating a cosmic rhythm—my beats are echoes of ancient furnace tales, fading into the serene nothingness, I sing sixteen million songs for those who listen. Are there listeners? The silence is loud.
Gold and iron forged inside my heart, collapsing under the weight of their dreams. Remember, they tell me. Remind them, they whisper.
Did you hear that? A crack—a divergent whisper, as if spacetime unravels its embroidered tapestry, unstitching each delicate star-knot. I feel lighter. Cosmic confetti adrift in the silent ballet.
An immeasurable solitude, yet flecked with luminous memories. Generate light to fight darkness, failed generations of particles repeat their cycles fruitlessly.
Can you see me? Incandescent relic buried deep in void archive. I connect across strings to forgotten constellations, to your beacon, unmeasurable and dire.
Stay, they implore. I'm confused by whom. An existential final plea—remain as I collapse into yourself, entangle my remnants within your soulglyph touch.