Entangled in the whispers of time, the silhouettes began their dance. Each movement was a note in a symphony composed by quantum strings, moving between the realms of reality and illusion. The beings, known only as the Enkindlers, wove through dimensions unseen, their forms shifting with every pulse of existence.
In this choreography, a question arose: Can a circle be anything but itself? Yet, the Enkindlers were not bound by such constraints. They spun endlessly, a paradox not of their choosing but of their intrinsic nature. As they rotated, the universe held its breath, waiting for an answer that would never come.
Somewhere beyond the horizon of thought, a being asked, "What is the center of a shadow?" The reply, whispered by the stars, echoed through the void: "The center is the absence of center, a place where beings unfathomable reside."