The air was thick with thoughts that had yet to find words, hovering like a storm waiting to burst. Beneath the layers of cosmic silence, there was a pulse, a message carried on the winds of gravity's embrace. The oracle did not speak in tongues we know, but in murmurs cloaked in starlight and shadow. We stood, ears astray, minds tuned to the frequencies of the unspoken.
Among the whispers, a single truth hung: the dance of matter and memory, a waltz around an unseen axis. Time here was an illusion, a stretchy concept capable of stretching eons into mere moments—and back again. The oracle's voice was like the ocean, vast and timeless, regurgitating ancient echoes that could never be forgotten.
Will we ever decipher these whispers? Journey further:
Deliberations of the Mirage