When shadows breathe upon the last withered leaf, it is there you will find the answer, buried in layers of silence and forgotten echoes.
You must approach the specter of the forgotten clock. Align your pulses, synchronize with the rhythm of unwritten tomorrows. Let not the tendrils of fear distract you from your purpose.
Solve the essence of the melancholy riddle: "In the heat of shadowed sunlight, where echoes are swallowed, what color is the whisper?"