In the embrace of solar winds, a station of forgotten echoes rests. The mist—an ethereal veil—whispers secrets it has gathered from the cosmic hush. Someone left a mark on time here, through the gullies of space. A gateway locked by stardust.
A voice murmurs: "When shadows cast by dead suns stretch upon the midnight sea, the wanderer finds home." You do not remember where you heard this, yet it resonates—a cosmic alignment of thoughts.
Beyond the edge of maps, where the whales of light breach the silent dark, truth transforms into stardust rain. Have the ancients already passed this way, or is their journey endless?