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The room the equalizer lives in: haze, two moving heads sweeping colour down through it, and a kick you can see — the floor throwing a dim flash on every beat. Drawn for the Bassline ring, on the same clock.

The wall opposite a window with cut glass in it: ribbons of split light lying across the dark, each running its own slow drift, crossing one another without a word. Drawn for the Prism ring, off the same spectrum.

Not Void's accretion disk: this is the sky around it, being pulled. Starlight smeared into arcs circling a dark centre, the inner sky turning faster than the outer, because that is what gravity does to a view like this. Drawn for the Warp ring.

Gold dust rising through a dark hall, a satin sheen crossing the air on a long cycle, soft bokeh where a mote drifts too near the glass. Everything moves upward, and slowly, because this is a room in no hurry. Drawn for the Crown ring.

A dead channel that is not quite dead: scanlines over near-black, bands of torn signal stuttering through with the colour channels split inside them, and once in a while a whole row of white before the set thinks better of it. Drawn for the Glitch ring.

Cherry petals falling through a plum dusk, three depths of them, each one a tilted ellipse that turns slowly as it falls and sways on the way. Nothing here is in a hurry. Drawn for the Bloom ring.

Not Universe's bokeh — this is the telescope's version. Three depths of hard stars drifting at their own parallax, a violet wisp of nebula behind them, and one wanderer crossing the field that is not a star at all. Drawn for the Orbit ring.

Serpent skin at rest: ranks of overlapping scallops with every other row offset half a step, the way scales actually lie, rising and falling as the body under them does. A green-gold sheen crosses on a long cycle. Drawn for the Ouroboros ring.

Not Magma's crust: this is the air above a fire that burned down an hour ago. Char dark, a bed of heat breathing at the floor, and embers riding the updraft — brightest just after they lift, guttering as they climb. Drawn for the Phoenix ring.

Not the Frost window — this is the other side of it. Three depths of snow coming down through a blue-grey dark, the near flakes soft and hurrying, the far ones fine and patient, all of it swaying on the same slow air. Drawn for the Frostbite ring.

A monitor at night: a faint grid, and a phosphor trace writing the same P-QRS-T across it over and over, brightest at the pen and letting go behind it the way phosphor really does. Drawn for the Pulse ring, and beating on the same clock.

A vault where the gold never set: veins of it flowing through dark bronze, pooling warm at the floor. The contour lines of a warped field, like Damascus — except this metal is still moving, and it moves like syrup. Drawn for the Midas ring.