In the annals of time, let it be known that oblivion is not an absence, but a presence so profound it reverberates through the whispers of forgotten winds. What lies beneath the surface: a mirror, perhaps, or remnants of existence undefined. Trace the echoes back to silence, and discover what was once not.
Does the void dream? Perhaps it dreams of light, of shadows that dance upon the ephemeral. Cast a glance at the inevitable layers, the unseen riddles tangled in the labyrinth of being and non-being. Enter the labyrinth.
Remember: All pieces fit, yet none complete.
The sky once wore a different hue, an abyssal blue.
In each layer, a void; in each void, a boundless mystery.