Chronicles of the Lost Aeon

At the edge of time, where sand meets silence, he stands : the last keeper of a heartbeat disguised as a clock. Behind him, the colossal mechanism turns slowly in the mist, its golden gears grinding out the echo of forgotten centuries. His chest burns with light, as though the very pulse of time were imprisoned beneath his ribs, each tick a memory, each second a wound. The tent, the lantern, the emptiness : all suggest a vigil, a man who guards not the past nor the future, but the fragile now that trembles between them. His gaze holds the weight of eras, yet his stance defies them all. 🔥 I am enthralled by this fusion of man and myth, by the way endurance becomes radiance when solitude is touched by purpose.

Spectacular 🤩