In the void, where silence wraps the shambles of long-forgotten tales, lies the Shard of Veridion: an ethereal relic, splintered across dimensions of time and memory. Once luminescent with whispers of burning legends, it now flickers faintly, each glow a fragile echo of its former brilliance.

We reached the edge of its sphere, our breath caught between the gravity of our ancient home and the celestial stretches beyond. The surface, once smooth and reflective, has decayed into a crust of stardust and shadow, riddled with cracks that refract a history we can only surmise.

The relic speaks to us—not in words, but in the language of absence. Its silence holds stories of cosmic dances, chaotic and beautiful, where stars were born and extinguished in cycles older than our understanding. To gaze upon it is to confront eternity; to listen is to hear the decay of everything we hold dear, echoed in a gradual, relentless entropy.