Prologue: The Blackboard

The dew of morning still glistens on the salt grass that grows along the
foundation of the old Lighthouse. It isn’t in active service anymore,
but has been renovated to serve as a private dwelling. High in the tower
inside, a young man is slumped on the floor in the corner of the room,
apparently in some kind of trance. Someone has put a blanket over him.
He is deathly pale, but the steady, almost imperceptible rise and fall of his
chest shows that he still clings to life. Standing next to him are a young
woman and an older man. Both are obviously shocked and distressed.
Their frequent glances toward the door give the impression that they’re
waiting for someone who is yet to arrive. On the wall next to them is a
blackboard covered with impenetrable mathematical equations. The older man is
holding a crumpled piece of paper -- it appears to be a note scribbled in haste
by an unsteady hand
What follows here is the story of what happened
Will we ever understand
This complex genius?
This visionary thinker?
Will we ever get this close again?
Uniting the forces
Of our universe
Will we ever understand
His isolation
Or his sense of wonder?
We will never get this close again
It’s been too long
I think he’s gone