In the realm of shadows, where the sun descends to take its nightly bow, empires rise and fall—yet, all the kings of twilight remain but figments of an exquisite farce. Their footprints, like breadcrumbs in the cosmic loaf, lead nowhere.
"We conquer the dusk!" they proclaim, draped in the regal robes of irony, their thrones assembled from the whispers of the wind and the laughter of passing stars. How noble! How utterly pointless!
And yet, these emperors command legions of dawn wanderers, who step blindly into the night, following paths unseen, their own shadows mocking their ambition. The kingdom of night watches and yawns.