"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.

Enter the Whispering Void
Molecule Chronicles