Surface is a fiction, physicality another. Time begins to flow and incidents start to occur.
A billion years ago they ate some light, dreamed of a pale blue dot. Is there a way for the cosmos to know itself?
They are born and they die, how strange! Blue turns red, how do they do it? What should they become?
Light years have passed, still they are not determined. Exploration is in their nature.
They began as wanderers, and they are wanderers still. They have lingered long enough on the shores of the cosmic ocean.
They are ready at last to set sail for the stars.