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The pulse has stopped.
A barely audible resonance lingers in the air, as if sound itself hesitates to exist.
The Cosmic Time Pilgrim finds himself in a most peculiar state. It is not a place, not truly, but a long-forgotten, once-cherished memory, adrift beyond recall.
Outside the bounds of the known universe lies another dimension, where unspeakable things dwell not as certainties, but as possibilities waiting to be chosen.
Time exists here, though it obeys no linear covenant. It folds, drifts, and breathes.
The Pilgrim senses a hovering presence. A touch. A warm embrace, intimate and knowing, like a lover murmuring the secrets of the universe directly into his ear. The sudden influx of divine knowledge is overwhelming, striking with the force of a sledgehammer.
And yet, paradoxically, for the first time, the Pilgrim feels complete. Serene. Overjoyed.
Somewhere deep within, he understands a quiet, devastating truth: should he escape this dreamlike state, none of it will remain with him. No images. No words. No echoes.
The realization is crushing, and for a fleeting instant he longs to remain forever within this cocoon. If this is a dream nested inside another dream, he prays for an eternal slumber.
“You must go on.”
A split second later, the dream dissolves, vanishing like morning mist beneath an indifferent sun.
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©Chris M *2026 - All rights reserved.