A fractured prism hangs in void-black space, its glass shards spilling eleven beams of luminous fractals. Each ray carries ghostly visions—burning cities, shadow-circled figures, distorted faces, and electromagnetic numerals—all converging where a viridescent spiral throbs with cryptic energy. Fibonacci cracks race across crystalline edges as the beams reveal impossible symmetries between televised prophecies and dying flowers sprouting from silicon veins. The prism becomes both lens and oracle, casting its jagged omens toward the singularity at its heart.
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