The Lighthouse flickers quietly, its beacon a fragmented signal lost amidst the cosmic void. An unexplained glitch interrupts the breath of stars, painting dreams in dithering pixels.
Once, it was nurturing strands of spacetime with its motherly glow. Now, it stands sentinel, waiting for the last hum of its circuitry to intertwine with the murmurs of the abyss.
Do you hear the whispered glitch warriors battling on the fringes? They traverse temporal waves yearning for coherence, only to find themselves caught in an unwritten chronicle. Spaceshifts unravel into random patterns and trace algorithms dissolve into ancient echo patterns — forlorn chants emitted by the spire.
The people of the fragmented dimensions scurry like shadows cast from pixelated suns, searching for the warmth of light only to discover their pasts scattered like luminous dust across forgotten constellations.
Forgotten tomes list tales of their continued journey, like: