In the swirls of time, swirling, swirling, there lived a breeze called Zephyr, always whispering to the sails of forgotten ships. Do you remember? A breath here, a sigh there, carrying tales untold, stories locked beneath layers of dust and echo.
"Have you heard the whispers?" she asked, and again asked, again she asked, her voice trailing like smoke in the cool morning air. Whispers on the wind, whispers on the sea, always beckoning you closer, always closer.
Sunsets bleed into dawns, bleeds into tales woven on the backs of turtles, carrying worlds, stories, always back to the start. Ever onward, ever backward, a loop, a circle, always turning, turning.
Journey deeper beyond the everyday. Or perhaps venture to another sound, another echo in the corridors of forgotten myth.