The Cosmic Eye

A wizard with one eye where two should be, and the eye is a galaxy. The hat tilts toward the dusk, gold moons and stars stitched into the fabric of it. Smoke from a briar pipe curls past the iris like a slow weather system, and the beard unspools in sandy tendrils that don't quite end. He isn't looking at you, exactly — he's noticing you, which is different. The wordmark sits across the chest like a name remembered from a dream. Something older than thinking has turned its attention this way for a moment.