?? Audio Version

  

  He fell from the void where the stars collapse,

  A shadow torn by infinity's lapse.

  The point had unraveled—its secrets vast,

  But his mind was shattered, unable to grasp.

  Through fractal spaces, he came undone,

  A vessel for chaos, eclipsing the sun.

  The laws of physics bent in despair,

  Time spilled forward, backward, elsewhere.

  The planet caught him—a wounded spark,

  A fragment of madness, hollow and stark.

  But he brought no peace, no saving grace,

  Only fractures across time and space.

  He walked the fields; they withered, burned,

  Yet moments later, their life returned.

  A single step could erase the sun,

  Or summon rain where there once was none.

  He stood in the river—its waters split,

  Flowing backward, forward, a temporal rift.

  His presence warped the sky to red,

  Then turned it black, where stars lay dead.

  He murmured words that were never his,

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Fragments of languages lost in abyss.

  The air would twist with echoes unknown,

  As reality crumbled wherever he'd roam.

  Through villages scattered, his shadow passed,

  Each place forever changed, though never to last.

  The crops would rot, then bloom in the night,

  The people would flee, then return in fright.

  For weeks, for centuries, he was there,

  And yet he wasn’t—a paradox rare.

  Children claimed to see him still,

  As elders spoke of the "Shaman’s will."

  Some saw him as curse, a creature of doom,

  A harbinger born to darken the bloom.

  But others believed, in whispered tones,

  That he was a guardian of lost, ancient stones.

  They spoke of fields that sprouted gold,

  Though skies above were dark and cold.

  Of rivers that healed with a single touch,

  Or storms that scattered when they feared too much.

  No one could tell what truth lay there—

  Was it his will or chance unaware?

  For legends grow where minds can’t see,

  And fill the gaps of mystery.

  Yet for him, no meaning remained inside—

  No self, no thought, just tides that collide.

  A puppet of chaos, a fractured storm,

  Neither alive nor truly reborn.

  His mind screamed silent in its blackened void,

  What it once knew, now destroyed.

  Each fragment of thought tore through the air,

  Warping the world with a maddening glare.

  But through the haze, a pulse would rise—

  A tremor faint beneath the skies.

  A ripple, a call, a force unknown,

  That stirred in him a seed long sown.

  Something beyond, something vast and near,

  Pulled at his essence, whispered in fear.

  Not sight, not sound, but a tug on his soul,

  A fracture deep that began to pull.

  And so the planet learned to endure,

  This creature of torment they could not cure.

  Generations passed, his legend grew,

  The "Shaman," they called him, though none truly knew.