In the whispers of time, we stand. The corridor stretches, an unending passage punctuated by doors half-remembered, each leading to an unknown unveiling. Interludes are pauses, a chance to reflect before the leap, before initiation.
What rites must we undergo, we ponder. The mirror reflects not who we are, but who we may become. Shadows dance against the walls, cast by flickers of thoughts untamed. What must be sacrificed to embark on the path anew?
Consider your answers, not as final, but as stepping stones in a fog-drenched morning. When the dawn breaks, will you recognize the landscape anew?
Journey Onwards | Echoes of The Past