Betelgeuse looms in Orion’s shoulder like a dying ember, vast beyond comprehension and trembling at the edge of annihilation. Its bloated surface churns and collapses in slow, cosmic convulsions, so immense that, placed at the heart of our solar system, it would swallow the inner worlds and reach outward past Jupiter’s domain.

Across hundreds of light-years, Earth watches as the star falters—its light dimming when titanic plumes of gas and dust are hurled into space, briefly veiling the furnace beneath. During the Great Dimming, it was as if the giant took a shuddering breath, the universe pausing to notice.

Then, someday—tomorrow or ten thousand years from now—the core will fail. Gravity will win. Betelgeuse will tear itself apart in a supernova so violent it will rival the full Moon, blazing in daylight and casting new shadows at night. Though no harm will reach us, its death will scar the sky, a reminder that even the mightiest stars are not eternal.