In an unassuming corner of the universe, where the river of time flows in spirals, Velon found herself questioning the color of yesterday's sky. Was it ever blue, or merely a reflection of tomorrow's thoughts? As she pondered, the winds whispered secrets from a distant century.
The tunnel shimmered beneath a canopy of forgotten constellations, leading her deeper into the time-light. Each step echoed with the laughter of 19th-century children playing in a park that no longer existed, their voices a melody of lost moments.
Echoes of TomorrowMeanwhile, across the same river but a different bank, Geralt watched the sun set slowly, casting shadows that told stories of empires and revolutions. Clocks ticked in reverse, and where one saw dusk, another saw dawn. He was a keeper of time, guardian of the light that bends and weaves through the fabric of the past.
On an ordinary Tuesday that had long since passed, a note fluttered into his lap. It bore a warning from a future self that had already forgotten what he once knew. "Do not enter the chamber," it said, "if whispers become shouts." The gravity of his choices pressed against the edges of reality.
Guardians of DuskRelive the moments, or relive the never-was. The choice is but an illusion as fabric as a dream. The time-traveling anecdotes weave a tapestry where travelers speak to themselves across ages, learning and unlearning the lessons of light and shadow.
Pathfinders of Time