lone, grizzled merchant stands on dusty alien planet, his stall overflowing with exotic glowing artifacts. His cybernetic arm gleams under sunlight

I love how the sun sharpens every glint on his armor : the old leather and the polished metal caught in a dialogue of eras. He looks like the last witness of a forgotten civilization, trading fragments of wonder beneath an endless sky. I appreciate the strange poetry of his stall: glowing orbs that seem to breathe, glass vials humming with captive light. His cybernetic arm doesn’t feel cold, but necessary : the future grafted onto the patience of survival. I adore the silence around him, vast and golden, where even technology feels ancient, and solitude becomes something sacred.