Pathways to the Galactic Sanctum
The maps drew lines unto stardust; cosmic highways of ancient roamers rewritten in golf-balled cellars and conference rooms with a faded touch of whiskey.
The day hums with a rhythm: metal clinks against metal as our mackerel nets tether dreams to lunar tides, releasing silver threads woven by the fisherman-families of Kolm.
Navigate the surviving echoes of a dying sea
Light cradles our bar shells, denied at dawn but coaxed into lentil orbit by moon chants heard only by the shepherds of Andromeda.
To eschew engines and pathways is to hold rebellion in the clasp of one's hand, to ignore the celestial traffic light's call to merge and reshape the infinite blue.