In the silence, there's a whisper, an echo not of sound but of a thought that never finds its voice. Can it be true—this pattern of stars rearranging to tell stories we've forgotten to understand?
Somewhere in the depths, an echo waits, gathering pieces of the unsaid, weaving a tapestry of what could have been. Do you remember the faces in the shadow, the ones you met in dreams, whose gazes followed you down the corridors of time?
And as the echoes fade, what remains? A lingering question: What of the shards?
The darkness breathes, the past whispers, and you stand, on the edge of the abyss, wondering if the next step will lead to light or further into the echo's embrace. Follow deeper.