In the beginning, before the end, a thought lingered in the ether—
drifting like smoke through the void, a broken clock measuring time that ceased to exist.
There were echoes in the galaxy, murmurs of forgotten dreams,
the listless movements of a thousand souls adrift through the endless night.
Once after the rain of silver fragments, they said stars spoke in riddles:
"Seek the path not taken, where shadows dance with the light of a million suns..."
Words carved in stardust, unreadable yet known, a universal tongue.
And here beneath the cosmic canopy, we tread lightly on paths outlined by ancient footprints,
our stories woven into the fabric of space, an unending spiral of beginnings and endings.
The celestial voice reverberates through time, a whisper in a forgotten future,
the last remnants of a world both alien and familiar.