In the depths of the old world archive, where dust kisses the edges of oblivion, lies the dream of the future once glimpsed and long since forgotten. Here, the echoes of tomorrow's hum fade into silence, leaving only shadows of what could have been.
Underneath the crumbling dome of the Celestial Library, a single hourglass holds time in suspension. Its grains move not in hours or days, but in moments that stretch and bend, revealing a narrative beyond our linear understanding.
In one corner, a holographic image sputters to life—an endless line of figures walking, walking into a city of glass and light that never welcomes them home. Their stories, written in the language of stars, drift away like so many fallen leaves.