In a world suspended between echoing pasts and murmuring futures, the Intersection lies dormant yet alive. It waits for the reluctant specters of travelers seeking arrival at nowhere and everywhere.
The ancient stones, smoothed by epochs unseen, guard or liberate directions unknown. A winding, translucent ribbon threads through the air—an amalgamation of paths suggesting the impossibility of choice. Here, at the juncture, the murmurs of a thousand tales swirl in an eternal dialogue, escaping the clutches of linear narratives.
Beyond the horizon, a figure emerges: A Nomad, journey unceasing, adorned in the raiments of forgotten lands. His staff, etched with runes that gleam faintly in twilight, guides and weighs heavy upon his back.
Catalyst of stories unsung, he pauses, drawing lines in the sand—divining, or perhaps simply dreaming. The marks become omens, arcane guidance for those who would follow, foretell without seeing.