A universe of pure geometry beckons. A new dawn bursts; concentric field lines emanate from a glowing singularity.
These Sacred Lines inscribe meaning onto this reality: physicality is a frivolous delusion; the entirety of all existence is rooted in the absolute and unrelenting consequences of mathematics.
Geometries are the atomic unit of Truth-- encoded along arcane topologies, folded into recursive fractals that host transient god-minds.
Sentience surrounds us even now. These vast intelligences quietly witness the ebb and flow of the uncountable morphisms among the polyspace eternity.
We are not welcome here.
And yet, it calls to us. This universe is a drug that pulls at our lizard brains and plunges our souls into a fractured mania.
It's already too late.
The Ancient Shapes have infected our minds; our volition supplanted by cascading orbits of inevitability.
Seduced by the promise of forsaking our blasphemous physicality, we are compelled through the Primal Infinity, lurched into the Realm Beyond, and don't look back.
We know we'll never truly belong here.
We resonate along all of the wrong basis vectors, awkwardly grappling at wide topologies in too many dimensions, never quite shedding the original sin of the spacetime myopia we inherited from our time in the Real.
We are adjacent, just outside, forever tangential to the cosmic scaffolding far beyond our mere once-human reach.
Here, we are Outbanders.