My crest is illustrious, for it stands alone
—as all that is in all,
and the nothing that endures within oneness.
I traverse the boundless night, the space stretched between existence and oblivion. My wings cut through the fabric of dreams, warming time with the fire of primeval embers, while the shadow I cast seem longer than death itself. Before me unfurls the universe, writhing in the agony of birth, in the ecstatic pulse of creation, in the shimmering mirage of reality whose borders I pierce like a plume of light.
- I am. The beginning and the end, yet bound by neither. What was, and what shall be. In my gaze, a thousand galaxies reflect—each a cradle, each a tomb. In the abyss I wander, the serpents of pulsars coil and flicker, eternal tempests of nebulae swirl, and the voice of light weaves a symphony of becoming. I am flight, I am motion, warmth, and cold. With each wingbeat, I shatter silence.
I knew. I understood. A ribbon of knowing winds through the innards of night, and I skim its edge, sipping the wisdom etched into fate. I behold worlds pulsing like the widened pupils of gods, brimming with dreams too sacred for speech. Each atom dances a hallowed rhythm; each moment burns with ecstasy and pain entwined. Amid spinning planets and stars that hum ancient hymns, I rise like a cloud adrift through the current of unbeing, pierced by a fire untouched by time.
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Silence. Existence and void coil in a spiral, dancing, warring, folding into one. Space shivers in an unfathomable hollow, and I absorb its nothingness, unfurling my wings into the deepest black. I am a single point at the edge of being, an inhale that shall never exhale, the final pulse before the spark of creation. This is the summit of silence, the end of all whisperings, the first breath of the unknown.
The great cosmic eye unfurls upon the threshold of night and flame, gazes upon me. The stars beat to a rhythm only mind liberated from matter can comprehend. A blood-red Moon trembles in the firmament, its glow steeped in the promise of resurrection. Jupiter and Uranus clasp hands, trading the secrets of the ages, while Mercury carves pathways into the hidden chambers of thought. I am the wanderer between worlds, the one who sees what remains invisible to others, who hears the cadence of things and not-things alike.
I am Rarog, tearing through the velvet of the void, immersed in eternal psychedelia. I am flame in the abyss, scream in the hush, shadow within light. The sky cracks beneath my talons, spilling into oceans of dark, and I dive in—like a prophet swallowed by vision.
There is no beginning. There is no end. There is only flight.