"Have we forgotten the way, Samsara?"
The question defied gravity, curling upwards as if probing celestial ignorance.
"Forgotten? Perhaps we've outgrown its chains," responded Tiara, her voice resonating like a balanced beat on an arcane drum.
The antiquity of their discussion spun delicately, akin to whispered wind through intertwining branches of a forgotten tree.
Beyond the breadth of their words, time flickered, allergic to temporal participles.
Silence relaxed, a spectator in this concert of unwritten harmonics.
Is this reality's last echo?
A cosmic potion of traditions basking in virtual gravity.