Magic-mushroom visuals + quantum bass drops—hit play, lose gravity.
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Some wild mushroom scenes in this one and a lot of trippy sci-fi / fantasy scenes!
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the Story
Page 1 – The Quiet Sparks
Lyra drifted at the threshold of the Luminant Gate, her skiff rocking in an unseen current. Above, the fungal super-structure arched like a cathedral grown from starlight and living hyphae. Each strand shimmered, humming in a language too old for vocal cords—yet she felt every murmur in the marrow of her bones.
A hush settled, and the mycelial canopy inhaled. Spore-dust quivered, lifting from the deck in tiny spirals before dissolving into motes of turquoise flame. In that breathless pause, Lyra sensed a heart beating beneath the architecture—steady, patient, 144 silent pulses every minute, waiting for its cue.
Then the canopy exhaled. Threads of luminescence lanced outward, braiding a tunnel of emerald fire. Her skiff shuddered forward as if reeled in by destiny, and the voyage into the Astral Mycelium Pulse began.
Page 2 – The First Bloom
Thirty-eight seconds into the passage, the tunnel flared wide. Lyra burst into a vast chamber where colossal mushroom monoliths formed a circle, their caps dotted with galaxies. A bloom of spore-light erupted—brilliant, searing, euphoric.
Voices resonated through the bloom, not in sound but sensation. Will you splice your story with ours? the council of Fungal Oracles asked. Before Lyra’s mind could fashion an answer, her heart spoke yes.
Instantly, the bloom collapsed into a velvet dusk. Gravity inverted, and she plunged downward through strata of midnight violet mist. Electric-blue lightning stitched fractal glyphs across the vessel’s hull, each glyph a memory of paths not taken. Lyra watched them race past and understood: the fungi were mapping her potential futures, judging her resonance.
Page 3 – The Lucid Core
She landed—not with impact, but with buoyant grace—upon a mirror-slick ocean of liquid mirage. Neon spores hovered above its surface like tame auroras, each one pulsing in synchronicity with that hidden heart.
At the center floated a crystalline dodecahedron, spinning slowly. Inside danced serpents of DMT flame, petals sprung from psilocybin dreams, and chromium halos echoing LSD’s infinity. The shapes revolved in perfect equilibrium, but the structure was incomplete—a single facet glimmered dull.
Lyra stepped onto the mirage, leaving ripples of amethyst that rang like chimes. She placed a palm upon the dim facet and poured in a shard of her life: her first memory of the sky, her stubborn laugh, her fear of being ordinary. The dodecahedron devoured the gift—and roared alive.
Page 4 – The Pulse Ignites
Subterranean conduits of molten starlight ignited along the chamber walls, converging upon the crystal. Hyphae fused into silver capillaries, channeling energy until the entire cavern spun like a loom for reality itself.
From the crystal’s core bloomed a newborn star—amber, defiant, radiant. Its first heartbeat thundered at the very frequency of Lyra’s pulse: one-hundred-forty-four giant echoes driving waves through flesh and stone alike. The fungi bowed, their caps shedding cascades of spore-flakes that drifted in lazy spirals before combusting into motes of gold.
Mirrors of space fractured overhead. In each shard, Lyra saw alternate selves: a version carved from rose-quartz, another stitched from laughter, a third woven of ocean spray. They aligned around her like petals of an impossible flower, focusing their collected intent into a single beam that speared the newborn star skyward.
Page 5 – The Helix Path
The star rose along a helix of emerald dust, drilling a tunnel through the Gate’s ceiling. Debris orbited in glittering ribbons; reality staggered, trying to remember its original geometry.
Lyra’s skiff lifted in the star’s slipstream. As she ascended, the council’s parting words unfurled inside her mind: Carry this pulse beyond the hollow star. Let distant worlds learn the rhythm of becoming.
High above, the tunnel widened into open void. She glanced back only once: the Starforge chamber shrank, closing like a glowing eyelid. Yet a filament of white-hot hypha clung to her wrist, binding her heartbeat to the newborn star far below. It thrummed—one, two, three, four—a promise etched in rhythm.
Beyond the tunnel waited an endless sea of darkness flecked with prisms, ready to echo the Astral Mycelium Pulse into new constellations. Lyra set her gaze on that frontier and, with a grin unburdened by gravity or doubt, throttled forward—toward the next impossible bloom.
—End of Book II. Book III will awaken where the star’s pulse first arcs across the void.
the Gallery
