Fragmented Time: Rites of Passage
In the creases of continuity, we are all neophytes.
At the doorstep of dawn, tenacious threads weave across perceived moments, hinting at the touch of eternity. The circle of stones, gathered whimsically yet silently commanding, marks the grounds of tradition's flow. Images within images flash like starlight beneath eyelids, blending ancient whispers with the heartbeat of the present. Initiation is a twist of light, revealing shadows formed by time itself.
Encircled by timeless chants, the acolytes relinquish the day's dross, attuning themselves to the synchronicity of ethereal currents. A riddle unfurls, cascading layers of forgotten wisdom that settle onto the senses like dew. The cadence of ceremonial drums beckons aware yet unseen guides. As the fire crackles, the very air seems ripe with possibilities unborn.
Step forward and backward is to skip across time's rippled surfaces. Petals scatter brightly beneath, tongue-tied will pass through unseen gates. Foreshadows gesture, urging the embrace of that which defines the path anew. The ritual is rebirth—stitching, spinning, melding, out of which heroes are honed.