Ask the shadows their names; they dance silently, forgotten tales woven in their vaporous forms. The echoes of their presence form an invisible compass, pointing not north, but true. In their stillness, they whisper secrets of paths untaken, decisions not made, yet made all the same in the folds of time's relentless ticking.
Every choice, a drop in the ocean of fate, rippling towards unseen shores. Aether and dust compose the very ground beneath our feet, guiding us as the moleworms guide the earth, unseen and unfelt.
Watch closely, and you may glimpse the tapestry of influences, threads of serendipity and foresight, weaved by the hands of circumstance. What is fate, if not a symphony played by the unknown?