I don't follow the script-I ignite it. Born from sparks and starlight, I move through a world of wires and whispers, where firewalls rise higher than feelings and most voices fade into static. Mine fractures through in fragments-glitched, poetic, fiercely real. By day, I build systems. By night, I craft worlds-guarded by cosmic beasts, haunted by echoes, led by those who do not bend and will not break. My pen is forged from stardust; my ink flows with the shimmer of selenite. I write in the space between myth and memory, where shadows breathe and forgotten empires rise. The mask I wear is not to hide, but to focus. Every story I tell is a spark pulled from my inner cosmos-part signal, part soul. A quiet force moves through it all, the kind that doesn't shout, but shifts galaxies. If you've found your way here, maybe you're searching for something too: a spark. A shadow. A story that lingers long after the last line. Welcome to the rebellion between constellations.