Once, in a realm where thoughts mingled with stardust, the winds whispered secrets to those who paused long enough to listen.

The dream of the owl gave insight, yet blindness followed in its wake. The paradox of knowledge, as always, weaving through the loom of time.

The ancients spoke of paths less traveled, where the cobwebs of time hung thick, and the echo of every footfall was a resounding truth waiting to be unveiled.

"We are the stars made to be dreams, the remnants of our slumbering thoughts echoing across the arcane tapestry of the cosmos." — Anonymous