In the empyrean ballet, whispers weave, unfolding tales written in vapor.
Above, at the threshold of the azure yawn, a vortex dances—the clouds nomadic in their celestial voyage.
From the depths, a solitary note ripples, resonating through the timeless, hollowed void.
A celestial choir murmurs softly as the horizon blurs in a swirling embrace, casting shadows of golden lore. Beneath the veils, mysteries eternally hid, waiting to be unveiled, twist, and turn—beckoning.
He who follows the airy road shall find infinity, echoing forever in chambers missed among time.
Perhaps the whispers know...