Drifting, they sang, beneath the currents of thought—whispers coiling, unraveling in the light, the whispering echo of dreams unremarked. In the stillness of night, a tapestry woven from silence began to unravel, stitch by stitch, thread by thread.

An ocean of stars blinked back; their glow, a soft radiance, flecked with memories of journeys not taken. Would you wander through hidden pathways, seeking the portals of illumination? Or linger here, lost in time, a timeless ripple echoing through the corridors of existence.

A thought, an echo: “In the labyrinth, there is always a way,” a voice murmured from the shadowy recesses of the mind. But what of the radiance that guides? Is it hope, or simply the reflection of a wandering soul seeking lanterns in the shadows?