In a world where whispers of the forgotten meld with the echoes of what never was, lies a question forged in solitude:
Riddle: "Always ahead yet never here, a journey begins the moment you disappear. What am I?"
Answer: To grasp the ungraspable, consider the path less taken, where footprints fade into memory.
Within the seams of reality's fabric are threads of questions unanswered:
Riddle: "I have rivers but no water, forests but no trees, and cities but no people. What am I?"
Answer: In the silence, where shadows speak, find the answer in what lies beneath the surface.