In the silent echoes, where time flows backwards, the eternal serpent slides beneath the fabric of stars.
Scribes of the unseen, writing destinies in ink spilled from the eyes of sleeping gods.
In the temple of dreams, silent hymns weave the forgotten tongue into the dawn's tapestry.
If you seek the undercurrents of slumber, dive into the depths of these celestial corridors and trace the lines of fate.
Perhaps you would wander through the labyrinth of whispered memories, where time and space blur into the silence.
Each soul a vessel, each moment a ripple in the cosmic oceans. Here, the hieroglyphs of dreams await the touch of awakening hands.