Galactic Bursts: Fragments of Time

In the swirling dance of the empyrean void, ages collided. During one such convergence, I found myself at a banquet in the year of 1842, surrounded by the illustrious and the damned.

An elderly scholar, wrapped in threads of shadow and myth, casually narrated the tale of Dorian's leprous clock. It ticked backward, painstakingly erasing each second from a life filled with consumptive grace.

Time unraveled in peculiar bursts, much like starlight caught in endless pursuit through cosmic rifts. And so I wandered, past moons draped in pallor, past stars whispering forgotten elegies.

Once, I stood on the precipice of a revolting era; 2210, on the Morales-Kaplan Arch, I observed synthetic ivy choking a neon Eden. The skies were a chaotic opera of color yet harmoniously mournful, resonating across the forgotten echo chambers of human ambition.

Malik sat beside me, contemplative and lost to the phosphorescent glow of distant suns. "Here, time is a thief swimming in the rivers of ash," he murmured, reflecting on a world enshrined in augmented whispers.

His words lingered, carved into the ether like cryptic runes marking celestial turnings.