The night sky glows with ancient fires, each one a sun, each surrounded by its own hidden worlds. Some are barren, some shrouded in ice, and some may carry the quiet hum of life. Between them drift shards of stone and rivers of dust — the remnants of their timeless beginnings.

​

Our star is one among hundreds of billions in the Milky Way, a galaxy adrift in a sea of trillions upon trillions of other galaxies, their light traveling across billions of years to find us here. At the heart of many lie black holes—mysterious wells where space and time themselves fold and vanish, hinting at the universe’s deepest secrets. Beyond even that, there may be other universes, where the very fabric of space and time is woven in different patterns.

​

We turn, we circle, we drift — bound to cosmic rhythms far older than Earth. We are not separate from this vastness, but are made of it. Every atom of our being forged in the hearts of long-dead stars. Yet what we see, touch, and call matter is only a tiny fraction of reality. Most of the universe is made of something unseen—dark matter and dark energy—mysterious forces shaping the cosmos from the shadows, guiding the grand dance of galaxies and the fate of all things.

​

We are not at all separate from the vastness of space, the slow birth and death of distant stars, or the flickers of light that travel across time itself. While living on borrowed atoms and energy, we are a part of it all. To gaze out into the universe is to look upon our own reflection—stretched across a deep and endless cosmos.