In a time before clocks ticked, the winds carried stories, whispers etched into existence by no hands we could trace. Beneath the soil, these murmurs found homes, older than the eyes that see them now.

Cryptic as it may seem, the labyrinth holds truths. [Hover for secrets]

Directions given by strangers often lead to oneself, they say. Somewhere along the cobbled paths, a door waits.

Turn back, turn back, the whisper becomes an echo. Yet, the riddle remains unsolved, strings of fate interlace with choice.

Time, that old thief of present moments, hides treasures in silence. Explore further

Each echo bears a story, each story a thousand reflections. Revisit the past