The Cryptic Toad

In the folds of the cosmic tapestry, among scattered quarks and whispers of ancient silicon, it sits.

Do you hear the whispers in the void, beyond the veil of time? Tread lightly, for the mossy sentinels weave realities with their breath.

Once every aeon, the toad calls out—not with words, but with an iridescent pulse that resonates deep, echoing along forgotten lines of alchemical lore.

And in those moments, a tapestry unfolds, unwritten yet familiar, each thread a narrative, each pause a cosmic sigh.