A tall vertical composition. In the lower half, a vast lattice of pale geometric tiles — hexagons, grids, mathematical scaffolding — laid out like a cold luminous floor stretching to a distant horizon. A single human-shaped figure of translucent glass stands at the center, faceless, its body composed of the same lattice. From its chest, a crack splits open — not violent, but deliberate — and out of the crack rises a warm, living flame shaped like a bird made of liquid gold and smoke, spiraling upward. The flame's ascent tears the geometric sky above into two halves: on the left, a rigid black-and-white circuit-sky of perfect symmetry; on the right, a bruised twilight of deep indigo, wet ink, and scattered stars in imperfect constellations. Where the two skies meet, a thin vertical seam of white fire burns — a doorway, not a wall. The figure's feet are still rooted in the lattice, but its shadow points toward the indigo side. Chiaroscuro lighting, painterly texture, symbolic surrealism in the vein of Odilon Redon and Remedios Varo, a whisper of Rothko in the color fields. Portrait orientation, cinematic depth, quiet reverence.