In the quiet corners of the universe, tales lurk, waiting to be unspooled. Voices from epochs past converge in the dim glow of memory. Have you listened to them? They murmur hints of what was and what might yet be, embedded in cosmic reveries.
A nameless traveler once asked, "If reality's veneer wears thin in dreams, what truths abide, if any?" Silence was the only answer, profound and heavy, yet somehow comforting.
In these dream-infested territories, we stumble upon theories, sliced from the unseen fabric of night. Contemplate further echoes, and wander paths uncharted.
What becomes of the voices that question the passage of time? Perpetual wanderers, locked in a swirling waltz across the fabric of subspace. Their words echo, ghost-like, in the hollows of thought.