Caverns of Illumination

Ever stood at the mouth of a cave and thought, "Hey, wonder what's down there?" And then you do, right? One step forward, and suddenly the light behind seems more like a memory than an option. But you keep walking, and the walls whisper in tones only understood by echoes. They say caverns have stories, you know, of moons snuffed out and stars that refuse to blink. Annie, who used to work at the diner, swore she saw one such star—a silent beacon in the black—with her own eyes.

Illumination isn't always what you think. Sometimes it's a trick, a dance of shadows, or a ghost of something forgotten. But you're drawn to it, like a moth to a flame—except the moth in this story is probably a large, hypothetical bat. And the flame? Well, more like phosphorescent algae lighting the way through limestone corridors.

Somewhere, in the murmur of stone and time, lies a truth coated in rusted secrecy. You could search for it, navigate the tomb-like passages with naught but a compass made of hope, or you could simply sit and listen—really listen. Maybe you'll meet the ghost of someone who used to care, maybe just an echo of a laughter that didn’t quite belong.

• The path less traveled
• Phantom dances
• Dissonant Harmonies