Listen closely to the echoes that dance among the shadows. They speak in tongues not known, in rhythms forgotten by time. The whispers are faint yet lingering, like the scent of ancient woods after rain.

Hieroglyphs once vivid now pale under the weight of years, etched with stories of sun and sand. Each symbol—a bridge to a memory lost, a word of lore that speaks of mountains and rivers that no longer exist in memory, covered by the tides of our relentless eras.

When dawn breaks, will the world remember these signs? Or will they remain dormant, surreptitious, as the paths that hide them?