In the twilight curtains of a time unclaimed, the echoes gather.
Whispers of moons unseen
Skies woven with threads of galaxies now forgotten, stand still.
Once, they were the cradle of future dreams, nurturing the seeds of civilizations beyond comprehension.
Listen, and you will hear the hum of their unending march.
The ancients spoke of paths, trails mapped on starlit canvases, leading to the central orb.
Fables carved onto the backs of roaming winds tell stories of azure cities that danced on the edges of reality.
"The horizon bends for none,"
they would say, their voices echoing through time's hollow corridors.
Touch the essence, and it will unravel secrets lost to the tides of ages. Secrets like the fragmentary symphony—a melody that curves and spirals inways that defy your waking thoughts.
The future once promised, now lingers like a ghost in the recesses of our minds, its echo resonating in every heartbeat.