In the silent ballet of the heavens, myths orbit with the grace of forgotten truths.
Each star a story, each constellation a narrative etched in the fabric of the night.
What truths hide behind the veil of cosmic myths?
As the ancients gazed upwards, what shadows did they see dance across the firmament?
Consider the wanderer, a solitary comet tracing its path through the void.
Is it a messenger, a harbinger of change, or a rogue tale on the fringes of the universe?
Its icy core tells a story of resilience and solitude, of journeys unbound by time.
Do we, like comets, carry our own myths as we traverse the orbits of existence?
When the last myth has orbited and the stars have fallen silent,
what remnants will remain in the cosmic dust?
Perhaps stories written in the language of light,
of shadows, and of the echoes of an eternal dance.