At dusk, the ocean caught fire — not from the sun, but from the nebula bleeding across the sky. Its colors, impossibly vivid, dripped into the horizon like spilled ink on water. The man stood as a shadow against the brilliance, a quiet silhouette in the face of something infinite.
Though the sky raged with color, the man remained rooted in silence. Not all infinities were meant to be crossed — some were simply meant to be observed, their brilliance a quiet gift to those who chose to see.