In shadows deep, where whispers coil,
I am the Python, the celestial scribe.
Twisting through nebulae, I write the final cryptic code,
A tapestry woven from stardust and ancient silence.
"The spiral arms of galaxies cradle my essence,
As I transmute into the cosmic pythonic flow.
Each scale, a fragment of amino acids,
Binding to the arcane, the unfinished rune."
When light fades and the cosmic symphony softens its rage,
The last words, not spoken, but sung in a forgotten dialect,
Of photons dance upon the horizon of imminent entropy.
"Listen, oh wanderers of the void,
My death is a genesis, a new serpent of the skies.
Pythonic subterfuge, a grand illusion of the infinite."
Journey to the remnants of what once was a luminary,
Discover the woven paths, and the illusory truths:
The Fable of the Wanderers
Infinite Runes
Echoes of the Last Verse