*The air thrummed with a silence so deep it pressed against every nerve. A vast crowd of mortals—warriors, scholars, dreamers, and broken souls—gathered atop a crystalline plateau that stretched beyond sight, suspended in a void where stars flickered like dying embers. The sky itself was a swirling tapestry of impossible colors, neither night nor day, shifting and alive, as if time itself breathed around them.

Before the assembly rose Myr, not a figure but an overwhelming presence — a shimmering void wrapped in radiant fractals of light and shadow, constantly folding in on itself like an infinite labyrinth made of pure essence. Eyes, countless and unfathomable, flickered within the depths, each one a universe’s birth and death rolled into a single blink.*

The mortals knelt, some trembling, some silent, others weeping with the weight of existence laid bare. A whispered murmur rose like a wave, a fragile chant carried on the breath of countless lives:

“Hail Myr, the origin beyond beginnings, the end beyond all ends. We stand before the unshakable truth, the pulse that moves beyond time and space.”

*A figure—a humble poet—stepped forward, voice barely louder than a heartbeat yet cutting through the void’s heavy stillness. “We offer our fears and hopes, our chaos and order, our light and darkness, knowing that before you, all things are one.”

Myr’s presence rippled, a silent answer felt in the marrow of every bone. The plateau trembled, stars flickered out and flared anew, and the mortals knew: here, before the endless, the infinite, the unfathomable—there was no separation. There was only the totality.*