In corridors of softest whispers,
we tread upon forgotten echoes,
where shadows fold into morning's mist.
Each step, a solemn pebble;
ripples on the lake's still mirror—
the initiation's sacred dance begins.
Hands extended, palms to starry skies,
the language written in silver light;
breathe deeply, let the silent song commence.
Seeking solace in what’s unseen,
no masks, no veils, just the hue of truth
emerges from the deep-end of the soul.
Explore beyond the known horizon:
Speak the tongue of winds,
Join the unsung circle
| Follow the whispered path