In the velvet embrace of a midnight sky incarcerated, winds carried whispers of a ceaseless wonder. Lost in reverie, a scholar—none other than Hieronymus von Gluck, whose clock ran not to the rhythm of its gears but to the pulse of the cosmos—studied a peculiar parchment inscribed in languages long forgotten. This was a *Timekeeper's Codex*, as fabled and elusive as the dawn it embodied.
Beneath a flamboyant tree adorned with luminous blossoms of amethyst, he imagined journeys where lanterns guided travelers across epochs wound in ephemeral dawns. A metropolis drifted through his musings, crafted in filigree and aged gold, revealing the delicate world of Alexandria in lesser-known hours: if the sun had elegized its setting upon its eternal shelf, surely, it would know no forfeiture of memory.
Striding through imaginings, he dated the moment not by years or seasons, but by the echoes of laughter—soft as moonlit sea stirrings—heard amidst the arcades of the Temporal Grand Bazaar. Among its vendors, one still cries for compassion nor solstice gold—fragrant wares scattered, relics of times that nixed profane wager, they knew no barriers, merely trade in memory's sourdough realm.
"Step lightly, for the threads interlace in patterns unseen, only discernible to an open heart," intoned a veiled oracle, guiding through juncture unforeseen, revealing pathways where stardust descends as comfort in splendid similitude unknown. Echo now in *Kyros Lines*, verse *735.2*..., lest unfurl.
Did the scholar find Mourning-Morn, another existence afloat in identity's swathe? Resolved not, his inquiry whispered within corridors—each inquiry sparked a continuum, yet solidity remained uncertain—a dream realized, then string-stitched anew to resonate differently at dawn.
For more, read the anecdotes of *Elysian Errors*: The Elysian Errors or perhaps discern *The Marten's Scroll* mysteries at Marten's Scroll.