He was in charge of changing the lightbulb, if you will, of the stars that went dark after a while. He worked at something similar to the back of a bowling alley except, it was the universe he was in charge of.
He was blind as a punishment, or so the gods thought. An astronomer in his past life, before he dare to challenge them, eternally condemned not only to the upkeep of the things he loved the most but to never see their beauty again.
A long beard fell from his face past his neck with white strands running randomly along with it. Long hair and grey robes. He held a walking stick. A kind man even after thousands of years.
He could hear every star, every last one of them. With its music and rhythm. Overwhelming at the beginning, no doubt, but with time the sounds became familiar.
He could hear when one was about to go out. Right away he would start to create the next one. Making it sound as closely as he could to the last and when it was out, he would take his time and walk over, pick up the star and place the new one closely but not exactly to where the last one was.
Back at his shop he would dismantle and listen for what broke on that star, maybe nothing. But he would listen carefully to every part as he took it apart to see if there was something he could use for the next.
You see, for him, it was never a punishment. If he knew he’d be doing this he would've dared the gods earlier. To be among the stars and be part of their beauty not only be able to watch from afar.