<lora:Industrial_Ink_Wash:0.8> IndustrialInk style. A colossal cross - part sacred relic, part celestial automaton - dominates the frame, its symmetrical limbs carved with baroque filigree that spirals into gear-etched wings, feathered with segmented metallic plumes shimmering under arcane luminescence. At its heart, a circular medallion bears a serpent coiled around an ouroboros gear, head piercing the wheel's center; above it, runes pulse softly gold, shifting like breath in silent hymn. The cross is forged from obsidian-silver alloy, polished to mirror ambient light while deep shadows cling to its crevices, rivets gleaming like starlight where metal meets wing. Glyphs along limbs blur script and circuitry - bridge of myth and machine. It rests on a pedestal of aged oak, grain worn by ritual, etched with crescent moons, thunderbolts, eyes that watch from within the wood. Behind it, parchment stretches infinite in sepia hue, textured with fading sigils and columns of unreadable glyphs; subtle ripples undulate as if held by magic, casting halos around base where shadows fall. Light - diffused, ethereal white - bathes the cross in halo glow, intensifying runes and cogs, while corners curl wisps of golden mist, energy residue or prayer-spirits. The composition is perfect: vertical symmetry, mirrored wings, balanced shadows, fixed eye-level gaze. No movement, no tilt - the frame commands reverence like a monument to faith and forgotten tech. Still air hangs charged, as if before ritual's start. You stand within its sacred geometry - between myth and machine, time and eternity - a silent, impossibly real artifact waiting for belief to awaken it.