In 1883, a peacock feathered umbrella guarded against a rain of stardust on the bustling streets of London. Isaac had forgotten it there, captivated by the future's whispers into his ear. He stood motionless, a scholar of vibrations lost in the endless horizon painted by unseen hands.
Fast forward to 2123, where concrete jungles have evolved into vertical seas of flora, misting tech-laden birds. Mira gazes at the kaleidoscope of decades folding into each other, seppuku of calendars reverberating through the quantum fabric. She's teaching an old octopus to type, forging an inkless legacy.