Welcome to
The Cosmos!

You have successfully made it beyond the barriers of the nebula. Here, you will find the ancient constellations that rise over the world you once knew, and how they played a role in your fate or how you ended up here in the first place.

Credit: Maren Voss

The Crown of Glass

The Crown of Glass is a rare and irregular celestial phenomenon, spoken of in folklore as much as in fragmented scientific records. Unlike most constellations, The Crown does not follow any known astronomical cycle; it does not rotate with the seasons, nor does it return with the precision of eclipses or comets. Instead, it appears suddenly and without pattern, suspended in the heavens for exactly seven nights before vanishing again into blackness.

During this brief window, The Crown is unmistakable: seven piercing blue stars, arranged in an arc that seems impossibly symmetrical as though drawn, rather than born. Its hue is what first earns its name, a chilling, glassy blue that seems to deepen the longer one stares into it. Many have claimed that under its gaze, the sky turns to ocean, and that the stars themselves breathe, expanding and contracting as though aware of The Watcher. Some speak of it growing larger with each night. Others say it listens.

Each of the seven stars within The Crown belongs to another constellation, a truth that has only added to its mystique. These stars are not siblings, but strangers, pulled from far corners of the sky. Yet for this singular week, they form a perfect alignment, as though answering an ancient pact. The constellations they originate from are known across cultures and eras, often tied to themes of grief, memory, betrayal, and devotion. Folklore suggests that the seven are soul-bound, each carrying the essence of a person who was once alive, and perhaps still is.

Legends differ on what The Crown brings. Some say it is a harbinger of death, others claim it marks a time when the veil thins and the stars speak back. In some forgotten texts, it is described as a receiver, a listening device hung in the void, absorbing the final wishes of those left behind. A few, far fewer, say it is a prison, or worse, a promise.

The most enduring myth, however, is that of the seven constellations. Some believe these constellations, each anchored by one of The Crown's stars, were never meant to be separate, that they were once a singular being, shattered across the sky in an act of divine punishment. When The Crown appears, it is not simply a spectacle, it is a reunion. A cosmic memory. A moment of unfinished business.

No one can predict its return. No device can summon it. But when it comes, something always follows. And nothing stays the same.

The Watcher

The Watcher is one of the oldest and most universally recognized constellations in the night sky. Shaped like a singular, unblinking eye, it sits high above the horizon, silent, symmetrical, and always facing forward. Across countless cultures and collapsed civilizations, The Watcher has been interpreted as an omen, a guardian, or a god, but always as a presence. It is not simply seen; it is felt.

While star maps vary between peoples, the position of The Watcher is remarkably consistent. It is one of the few celestial figures acknowledged by name in both modern astronomy and ancient carved stone. Most accounts describe a faint ring of stars surrounding a single bright core, an eye that sees beyond time.

To some, The Watcher is a judge, a cosmic authority that oversees the decisions of mortals. In fragmented texts and whispered oral traditions, it is said that The Watcher does not react to prayer or devotion, but rather to truth. Those who have lived without guilt feel no weight beneath its gaze. But those who have strayed, who have sinned, who have unmade someone they once loved, often claim to see The Watcher moving. Just a little.

Entire belief systems have formed around it. There are sects that offer their secrets beneath open sky, laying themselves bare before The Watcher’s light in hopes of cosmic absolution. Others live in fear of its silent judgment, taking care never to look directly at the stars once the Watcher rises. Some even believe that its eye opens wider on certain nights, particularly those when cursed constellations are visible.

Legends persist that The Watcher can alter one’s fate, not by offering guidance, but by intervening. In these darker accounts, The Watcher is not a protector, but an executioner. A rebalancer. A force that corrects the timeline by removing what does not belong. Those who escape death often feel its influence nearby. Those who return from it speak of an eye that refused to blink.

Some believe The Watcher cannot be seen at all unless it chooses to be. Others claim its light cannot be photographed, and that its star shifts position in the sky depending on who is looking. Its presence is tied not just to destiny, but to consequence.

It does not speak. It does not listen. But it always knows. And if you’ve done something wrong, it’s already watching.