"When the sun fringed the horizon with its gold," whispers a voice like autumn leaves skittering on cobbles, "I dreamed of cities unexplored, of destinies untold."
"It was in the whispers of the weeping willow," chimed another, soft like silk against worn wood, "that I found my name, etched in the language of forgotten stars."
In a room where dust dances, a figure drawn in the pale light speaks in echoes—a tapestry spun of time's thread, where every loop holds a universe. "I remember the day you chose the path less walked," they say, "not because it was there, but because it shimmered with the promise of discovery."
"Listen to the echoes," a voice like the wind through a cracked window advises, "they carry the stories of worlds that might have been, or perhaps are yet to come."
Somewhere in this labyrinth of possibility, doors creak open to realms untouched. Enter the Unseen or Choose Another Path.
And when the last light fades from the sky, when silence blankets the land, remember the words: Silence Speaks.