Within the hollow shell of the universe, a voice echoed. It was not the voice of a being, but rather a collective murmur—the amalgamation of stardust and time. Some called it the Breach, where reality unfurled like a tattered scroll, revealing truths often neglected.
Voicemail from Orbit: "Inertia has no place beyond, it seems," she whispered, balancing the cosmos upon her fingertips. "Here, gravity is a suggestion, not a rule."
Mirages, they once believed, were mere optical illusions caused by the refraction of light. Yet, in this eclipsed realm, it was evident that they were shadows of potential realities—echoes of possibilities untaken.
The Harbinger: "Would you challenge the horizon to a duel?" The question hung in the air, shrouded in paradox. "For it knows no bounds, and neither should you."
These dialogues drifted through the eclipsed corridors, weaving a narrative as compelling as it was confounding—gravity-defying in every sense.