The Song That Made the Stars depicts creation as something generated through action — a cosmos born not from silence, but from deliberate sound. In the first panel, two drummers strike a living pulse and light erupts between their hands. In the second, a lone drummer sits held inside a nebula as his rhythm seeds new constellations into being. In the third, breath becomes genesis: a piper exhales a spiral of galaxies while beside him another drummer punctuates the darkness with blows of light. Across the triptych, music is not just metaphor — it is the mechanism of creation. These figures do not observe the universe forming; they issue it. Stars here are not the residue of a distant beginning, but the immediate consequence of rhythm, breath, force, and will made audible. The cosmos is portrayed as something we make — again and again — every time we choose to speak, to sing, to sound the world into form.