: In the heart of the pyramids, whispers of the stars guided the construction of eternity. I met an architect with no tools, only visions chiseled out of constellations. His plans were simple: align the stones with the dances of Orion forever.
: Among the Morlocks, I've come to learn the art of shadow weaving. The surface world is a relic, and underground cities thrive in the absence of light. It is a world without technology or timepieces, where the markers of days are the pulse of underground rivers.
: In the rust-colored dust, human laughter echoes. Communities are built in domes with algae gardens, thriving in artificial sunlight. The Martian weather remains unpredictable, but so too are the vicissitudes of human connection in this alien sanctuary.
Returning from these travels, I reflect on the whispers of time that linger long after you leave their embrace. Each moment, a stepping stone on an uncharted riverbank.
Visit the past to find the gatekeepers of now, or prepare for what lies ahead in the tomorrow.