It's not the whispers of winds along barren ridges nor the clamor of distant echoes that keep the memory of old ports alive. It's the stars. They reel in their silent dance above, reminding forlorn travelers of sky veins and cosmic pathways once trodden. Those who dream among these celestial confines wander through husks of terra and metal, seeking remnants of the dreams sewn thousands of light-years before.

Somewhere in orbit lies Valka IV — a place where the shoreline hugged a cobalt tide under a flaming red sun. It never truly rose for the explorers; they settled for what would be second best, reaching it through half-remembered charts scrawled in the language of stars and shadows. Tales of golden fields and amber oceans were whispered then forgotten in the monotonous hum of engines spinning time into strings.

Lurk further, and perhaps you'll discover Neptara, encased in liquid amethyst and silent waves. There, the forgotten eyes of mariners have laid a claim on the skies unseen and winds unbent. Vast, open ports welcome weary souls with wanting arms, yet emptied and abandoned like our dreams—half-shorn echoes of another's promise.

How many ports remain uncataloged, adrift outside maps lost to solar flares and time? Leaves of parchment bound in stardust, worlds folded like leaves within a cosmic tome. Glance into the void, and inspect the tapestry of our restlessness.