In the beginning, there was a silence, profound and untouched. It hung like a shroud over the empty corridor, stretching into the void. A lone figure walked, each step a soft thud in the hollow expanse. The air was thick, holding a promise of secrets long forgotten.
As she walked, the sound grew, unfurling around her like a shivering cloak. Whispers, faint and distant, coalesced into a murmur, a symphony of the unsung. It was as if the walls themselves breathed, exhaling the past into the present moment.
“Who speaks?” she dared to ask, her voice trembling like a leaf in the wind. The silence answered not, but the echoes wrapped tighter around her, weaving a tapestry of sound and memory. She listened, not with ears, but with a heart attuned to the vibrations of the world.
And then, a name—a single syllable—carried through the ether: "Astra." It rang clear, a bell tolling in the night, summoning her to a reckoning of moments past. The corridor shimmered, the very ground beneath her a mosaic of stories untold.
She hesitated, feeling the weight of time pressing on her shoulders. Ahead lay a choice, paths branching like veins of a forgotten map. Each route whispered promises of revelations, but which to take?