In the vastness, there exists an arc, a spectral thread stretched across the astral canvas. Here, mechanics dance with shadows, their symphony unheard by the mortal ear. Underneath the crescent of the galactic embrace, silence reigns—yet it speaks through the intricate machinery of the void.
Engines of starlight pulse with a heartless rhythm, charting paths unseen by eyes untrained. The arc whispers, encoded in cosmic hues, murmuring secrets of a time untold. To traverse its length is to walk the line between creation and uncreation, a journey without desire.
Reverberations of the arc echo, not in sound, but in the emptiness that fills the space between worlds. Here, emotions become artifacts, relics of a bygone age, strewn across the infinite like forgotten constellations.