In an age where the canopy of stars becomes a pergola for pondering, dogs bark but have no one left to hear them. Their barks echo across timeless dimensions, forming sentences in lost tongues. Imagine these tales, etched in cosmic dust settling calmly on unturned pages of yesterday's futures.

The midnight owl listens, knowing the riddles once known to Aristotle and Plato, yet translated now by the gnawing of unseen cosmic forces. Isiravela whispers amid the interstellar breeze, sailing across a horizon where gravity dances in harmony with bewilderment.

Tomorrow, hanging like a ripe fruit from the branch of eternity, spills unripe theories into the void. Trees, gnarled and wise, emerge as entities writing their barked scriptures upon barked scriptures. Beneath their roots, the ancients sleep, dreaming dreams of replicated realities. Temple of the Voids lies at this junction.