What is the Antisun Grey?
Journal of N. Ankhlin, 77th Mardi, 2977
I have travelled farther than any mortal. I have crossed seas vaster than the lifetimes of stars. Walked across plains fashioned from the bones of unreality. Seen life in all its horrible little forms. Yet Death stalks me. She will take me eventually, and this I do not fear. For I have reached the nexus from which all travels spin. I have followed the winding river back to its springs. You must think me mad, gentle reader, and you would not be entirely incorrect. For where I have gone, and where I have yet to go, sanity is a weight best left behind.
The universe, you see, is a maze of dimensions, each thought, each act, spawning endless birthing spirals ever on into infinity. At its centre is a black hole – the most supermassive one of them all – a vortex about which the universe and all its dimensions spin.
At the event horizon amidst the effluence of torn realities a single grey world orbits a black sun. Adhering to physical laws as yet un-theorised, or indeed existing. As old as the universe. Witnessing the dimensions split and mate and split.
Were they part of an observatory set up by some ancient people to peer into the space of existence, watching dimensions flicker and die in supernovae of unimaginable beauty? Artefacts of the universe’s creation? Anomalies in a reality built on laws and logic? The former home of a God who threw himself into the vortex in the ultimate act of sacrifice or apathy or rage or despair? Mysteries, but perhaps meaningless. The world and its sun exist.
The people of this world call it Grey. The sun they name Antisun.
This is where I have come. And this is where I record the stories of the end of all existence.

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