Boundless Myth

In the shadows of recursion, myths whisper, boundless, everlasting, yet ever fleeting.
Through the echo of time, they speak, melodic waves that rise and fall, rise and fall.
Seek the ancient, the untold, the veiled in night's embrace—beyond the horizon, beyond the perception.
Once again, the cycle turns, the circle completes, the eternal myth remains unchanged, yet reborn.

Legends woven in silver mist, dancing on the edge of oblivion and creation. The wind carries them, softly, softly, a lullaby for the wandering spirit.

Recite the verses, chant the runes, let them cascade like night over the waking dawn. The past whispers to the present, in ancient tongues, incoherent yet understood.