In a realm unbound by the standard measure of time, they emerge. Silhouettes cast by invisible light, their forms bending the very fabric of perception. They step, one after another, in a rhythm dictated not by metronome, but by the pulse of the cosmos itself.
A whispered promise lingers in the air, a resonance of forgotten epochs where the sky kissed the sea. Here lies the gate of echoes, waiting patiently as the dance continues, an eternal waltz framing the horizon.
Shadows of figures long past, perhaps spirits of the stars, trace their paths through astral light. The return is always certain, yet forever enigmatic, a circle drawn with the ink of reality's infinite canvas.