The gatekeepers stand silent, stoic against the endless expanse of scripted void. Their whispered echoes murmur truths undistilled: each wall unwritten, embodying echoes not of sound, but of silence sculpted. Hearken to this lesson, for it is inscribed not in ink, but in the vacuum of an unshaped thought.
Encounters with the gate are fleeting. To pass is a gift, to stand is a lesson. To understand the teachings of the unwritten, one must listen not with ears, but with the soul's unending curiosity. What is kept, what is lost — this remains beneath layers unseen.
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