In the shadowy folds of the universe, where light is but a whisper, lies the theory of our galactic origin. It speaks not in words but in cosmic tremors, echoing across the void. How does one measure the depth of a crater carved by the genesis of time? Each fragment, an artifact of existence itself, questions the very essence of being.
Philosophers and scientists alike ponder the void. Is it a cradle or a tomb? A beginning intertwined with an end, stitched together from the fabric of shadows. When does the cosmic dust settle, and when does it rise anew? Perhaps our universe is a tale told by an unseen entity, with each star a syllable, each black hole a period.
Consider the Layers of Shadow and Gravity and their influence on the cosmic narrative. Are we mere actors, or do we hold the pen of our fate?