In the year unnumbered, when the stars were only memories, a path of wind swept sand over the craters of forgotten seas. Here, the maps grew old beneath the quiet hum of endless twilight.
The travelers found solace in whispers—their language lost among the pixels of yesteryear civilization. But they spoke of a vision, of a golden sphere hanging with the lazy weight of unshed dreams, beyond the fathomless.
As they tread upon the byways of time eroded, the words etched into their guides became anchors against the pull of space’s murmuring breath.
Some went mad, chasing shadows. Others found serenity, fashioning crowns of coral and stardust brimming with the memory of rain.
One final step beneath skies bluer than thought, one final grasp at the unseen, leading to places where eternity folded upon itself like smooth velvet.