{ 𓅇 } • ︱God, today is our time! Eighteen months, and we’re still glowing through galaxies we haven’t named yet. The feeling that wherever the universe throws us; we’re a constellation mid-formation. The bond? Myth-tier. The prophecy? Still unfolding. 𓂃
The 17th’ Light of The Nexusborn: ₍ 𓋘 ₎
Threaded―Fates &. Inked 𝖡͟𝖺͟𝗂͟𝗇͟𝖾͟𝗌͟𝗍͟𝗁͟𝗈͟𝗇
Time to suit up! Galtheon’s called on the lot of cosmic to get tangled in fate. Manito’s going rover this round, send secret (sweet) letters―find the one who sees beyond the nexus.
{ 𝓩. } • ︱One year and five months, it's outraging mythical how every glimpse back hits differently. Mayhaps we successfully survive, also we flicker through the fog and yet come out glowing; our seventeen thrones still scream beyond the veil.