The horizon stretches, a line where geometry meets the fading sun. Out here, the Euclidean shapes conjoin with shadows of lost dimensions. Have they always been here? No one knows why they linger at the edge, whispers of a time before coordinates.
Once, there was a man who mapped these shapes under the North Star. He etched them into the fabric of the night sky, a tapestry of forgotten equations. Now, we walk in his footsteps, yet the meaning remains locked within the lines.
Beneath the haze, one can find remnants of other places: ancient ruins, modern machines. Each tells stories of what lies beyond the visible, where geometry and time intertwine.
Perhaps here, at the horizon, we can understand our displacement. We are not merely travelers but custodians of a world where shapes remember the horizon's dance.