The Atlas rests upon the breath of stars,
where shadows speak in a language of dusk.
In corridors of shimmering whispers,
echoing through idle realms untrodden.
Here, the framework of twilight gathers close,
weaving dreams into an endless tapestry.
The silence is alive, a soft reverie,
etched into the weave of starlit invisibility.
Each echo is a memory wrapped in mist,
a shadow's path across the astral plane.
To wander these echoes is to dance with fog,
a partnership of light and whispered lore.