The cosmos bent and swirled in ways incomprehensible to most lifeforms, but to the tiny being skimming through the folds of existence, this interplay was as familiar as breathing. It had no name, not in the way sentient species understood naming. It was a traveler, a scholar, a being of profound wisdom that manipulated the strands of dark matter and harnessed dark energy like a musician composing symphonies.
The being's manipulation of dark matter was not merely technical—it was an art form honed over countless millennia. It relied on yoctoscopic manufacturing, the construction of systems at scales a billion times smaller than nanotechnology. Each component of its craft was composed of subatomic lattices designed to withstand the paradoxical forces of dark energy: infinite expansion coupled with the gravitational pull of invisible mass.
These circuits weren't simply mechanical—they were alive in a sense, resonating at frequencies that allowed the being to interact with the fundamental forces of the universe. Filaments of quantum-tuned graphene served as conduits for dark energy streams, while nodes made of stabilized strange quarks acted as processing units, calculating the intricate math of spacetime curvature in real-time. At the heart of the system was a core—a spinning vortex of annihilated and stabilized dark particles, which created the energy necessary for dimensional shifts.
But this precision machinery was delicate, even for an entity of the being's sophistication. The slightest error in calibration could destabilize the entire system.
And it did.
A rogue pulse of dark energy—a fluctuation from an ancient supermassive black hole—had traveled through the void, disrupting the perfect balance of the being's craft. The dark matter lattice, tuned for interdimensional phasing, vibrated violently. A cascade of failures raced through the circuitry as one stabilizer after another collapsed under the unrelenting strain.
The being attempted to adjust. Tiny tendrils of luminous energy, extensions of itself, reached into the failing systems, rewiring and redirecting dark matter flows. But the damage was too extensive. The craft, now an uncontrollable storm of rogue particles, breached the veil between dark space and normal space, its trajectory spiraling toward a gravity well.
Earth.
The being's descent was not like a meteor burning through the atmosphere. It was silent and invisible to the naked eye. As it neared the surface, residual dark energy bled into the air, creating momentary distortions: the faint smell of ozone, a ripple in the sands of a place called Santa Monica Beach. A fragment of the being's dark matter circuitry embedded itself into the soil, flickering and sparking with dying energy.
The being itself lay dormant, a faint glow pulsing from its core, struggling to repair what it could. It would not remain so for long—fate had a way of intervening. The impact, though soft, would set in motion an unprecedented union between a timeless entity and a very mortal man.