1865, between breaths and the final echo, silence.
Sparks from Cromwell's fireplace, fading. England flickers.
A hatch opens. 2047 is blue. Distant machinery hums, persistent clatter...
Discover hints and then wander through...
The crowded bath, a Roman whispers of futures, unseen warriors walk onward.
Dusty village at the last spring. Year 0, not year 01...
Is the banter of galaxies just a dream?
Step back, reset the tether to the decimal age.
Listen again at the fall of any era.