There was once a great Owl, guardian of the celestial whispers, perched upon the branches of ethereal trees. It was said that this Owl never spoke; instead, it listened. To the cracks and murmurs of the universe, to the whispers of time spinning its intricate web of stars and shadows.
Below its perch, a labyrinth formed and dissolved like forgotten fables etched upon the minds of wandering souls. Those who entered the maze sought not treasure, but truth hidden in the dust of cosmic memories. They walked not on paths, but on questions, finding answers amid murmured echoes of starlight.
Tales wove themselves around the travelers like the spectral forms of ancient stargazers, unfurling in the whispers of the wind. Each step they took was a note in the symphony of the cosmos, ephemeral yet immutable in its haunting beauty. The Owl remained, ever vigilant, ever listening.