"Hurry, before they close the portals!" The voice had barely escaped the fog of my last memory as we tumbled through the time-woven alleyway.
Bouncing to the year 3050 was more exhilarating than I had anticipated. Neon dinosaurs roamed the rebuilt cities, and if you listened closely, they sang in perfect harmony with the whir of levitating bicycles.
One pivotal night, underneath currents sparkling like revised constellations, I met Astra, the guardian of astral bridges. She wielded time like a violin—each note carrying tales of bygone futures.
"In 2025, we thought the world was ending," Astra explained, fingers tracing luminous patterns in the air. "But like the shifting auroras, we veiled carbon shadows with advancements that evoked clarity from chaos."
Riddled with curiosity, I pressed for more tales from crystalline epochs, tasting dates like candied nostalgia. Energy surged as past pivoted into present, all guided by stellar verses imagined by light itself.
Time's true essence isn't in the dates or destinations; it's in the journey and its luminous echoes.