The moment the final word etched itself into the blank page in shimmering black script, the pavilion fell into absolute silence.
The dome above darkened—not to black, but to a profound, infinite depth where stars flickered and died in the same breath, nebulae collapsing inward like lungs exhaling eternity.
The air grew heavy, charged with the weight of unspoken truths, every breath tasting of potential unrealized.
Then the vision began—not as a single memory, but as a cascading torrent of realities that overlapped, contradicted, and harmonized in impossible symphony.
Participants saw themselves—not as they were, but as they could be, had been, and never would be.
A dragon scion roared in triumphant conquest—wings shattering galaxies—only for his flames to turn inward, consuming his own existence until he unraveled into sparks that reformed as humble embers.
