"Did you hear the whispers of the crescent moon?" she asked, her eyes reflecting ancient shadows.
"I think the numbers sang," he replied, tracing lines in the sand.
In a space where echoes fold over themselves like waves upon a silent sea, the truth lay encoded in the geometry of silence.
Observers of the forgotten spiral danced through numbers, casting spells of symmetry and light.
"Tomorrow will never end," she whispered, "until the stars align in secret."
Follow the path, where whispers turn to echoes.