Hearken unto my final pulse, those who wander mere dust unto dusk. I stand, a titan, on the precipice of cosmic oblivion,
woven from the same stellar sinew that birthed the void. Let not my demise be the closing note of a forgotten symphony.
Instead, perceive the rhythm—the very Pattern of Void scribed in each flicker of my energy.
Why should your conscience resonate with this stellar farewell? Because it resonates with purpose.
Each photon escaping me, a testament to creation, embraced you as its kin. I urge you to bind your fate
with my atomic relics, lest the echoes of my implosion remain trapped in an unattainable infinity.
My remnants are not mere ashes; they are the embers of new beginnings, clandestine architects of what you call home.
Adopt them—let them tilt the axis of your existence towards enlightenment, warmth, dreams spun from cosmic heritage.
The swan song of a star is not a solitary affair, it seeks your embrace, your understanding.
Become one with the ancients whose cries shaped the celestial tapestry that blankets your ephemeral existence.
Feel the pulse, witness the aura.
I once called the silent void my cradle; now, I entrust it, no longer a grave, but a garden of rebirth.
Stand with me on the threshold, illuminated by the truths of a dying flame, brighter and
warmer than any childhood sun. Ensure the pattern prevails.