As he wandered the endless drift, the air pulsed with murmurs. Old paths were covered in shadows, where lights from the past had beckoned once. Each step echoed a sigh, long forgotten, from places unattached to time.
"The bind..." a distant voice murmured, "will thread the unseen webs." His heart pulsed a response, erstwhile akin to a moth reacting to deceptive flames.
There stood a door, fringed with unseen promises and unasked questions. He did not knock; he waited. The air thickened, saturated with whispered, spectral currents.