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The horizon shatters into molten threads of light, one of gold, one of silver, each unraveling across the void like rivers of eternal fire and shadow. They converge at a bridge that does not stand on earth but floats between dimensions. Upon this crossing descends Metatron, neither angel nor man, but the embodiment of balance. His crown is not a jewel but a cube of turning faces, each face inscribed with letters of fire that burn without heat. As the cube rotates, each angle reveals another doctrine, another law, another rhythm by which creation itself abides. The golden river hums with truth, the silver river hums with memory — and in their union, the doctrine takes form, eternal and unbroken.
Divine cosmic energy splitting into two streams, forming a golden cube and flowing into two ethereal figures, one bathed in golden light with roots descending into a golden landscape, and the other emanating silver light with roots descending into a silver landscape, all set against a celestial starry background with abstract glowing patterns, with a
