He was the last of his kind, a magician of ancient arts long forgotten. The world had moved on, trading wonders for reason, leaving him a relic wandering a barren land. But tonight, the cosmos called anew.
Before him loomed the Obelisk of Solara, a monolith of impossible origin. Its cracked surface revealed a fraction of the universe. Legends spoke of it as a riddle, a gateway not to another place, but to truths beyond mortal grasp.
The magician had spent his lifetime preparing for this moment, deciphering runes, bartering fragments of his self, losing companions to time’s march. Now, with trembling hands and a weathered staff, he whispered the incantation carried in his memory for decades.
The monolith pulsed in recognition. Stars within shifted into patterns he could not name but instinctively understood. Silence followed. Lowering his hood, he stepped closer. The boundary between stone and starlight blurred. As his hand reached forward, the universe leaned back.
In that instant, he saw everything: worlds born and dying, the cradle of creation, time itself unfolding. He smiled. Not at the answers, but at the vastness of the question. With a final step, the monolith consumed him, his silhouette dissolving into starlight.
Far above, a new constellation appeared. A lone star where none had been before.