In the shadow of the quantum horizon, where the void hums softly, the cosmic vagabonds gather. They drift, seekers of ancient tunes sung by planets long silent, by nebulae weaving stories into the fabric of the dark. There’s a pull, unnerving yet familiar, in the way constellations realign in their wake.
You may hear them before you see them—whispers of solar winds no one else can perceive, carrying secrets and leftward glances into the uncharted realms. The air thickens with forgotten gravity, a kind of truth demanding reverence, and yet all they touch turns to starlight strewn like breadcrumbs across barren spaces.