A magenta core radiates outward, fading through violet into pale green. The gradient is seamless, like color breathed into still air—no edges, just slow drift. Magenta pulls the eye in; green lets it go. Nothing symbolic, nothing loud, but it lingers. Quiet tension held in color alone.
As a form, the orb carries weight. Across time it’s signaled power, spirit, wholeness—kings held them, mystics saw them, planets wear the shape by nature. But it also unsettles. An orb can be a world, or a watcher. It implies presence without explanation. Self-contained, calm on the surface, charged underneath. It doesn’t need to act. It just stays. And in staying, it draws you in.
Archefact 