Above us, a constellation of peculiar hues: a syllable forgotten in infinity's throat, coursing through silver threads as soft echoes of a barely spoken name... resonating, vibrating, forging unseen tactile bridges.
As she stepped, it felt as if the ground itself ached beneath her soles, an initiation into clandestine rhythms. Stars rippled their secrets, an antique jazz that needed no invitation.
Map of Stars: Elysium Promenade - Zenith of Harmonics
The whispers wrapped around her like astral tendrils. Did they ask questions, or were they merely reflections of truths she was yet to discover? Somewhere, a delicate harmony began... perhaps it was always present, disguised as infinite expanse.