Whispered echoes in twilight, shadows cast by unseen moons. The circle is drawn, salt lines connecting disconnected dots, portals edged with ancient wisdom—the ancients knew, oh how they knew. Stand within the circle, breathe the air that's not there; breath becomes wind, wind becomes voice. Speak the name that only you know.
We gather, fragments of the whole, scattered like seeds on the eddies of dusk. Each path followed, a song unsung, until it intertwines with others, creating a harmony out of dissonance, a chord of time strummed by hands that have long since forgotten the touch of life.
Look within, beyond the patterns that lie, beneath the cover of mirrors reflecting what was, what will be, what is never to be. Unlock the door, but there is no door, only the illusion of one, the perception of one's self standing alone in a crowd of intangible pasts.
Again we return to the river, winding in the shadows, as waters carry whispers of the world they have yet to encounter. All stories known, all truths spoken, echoes becoming rivers, rivers... a vast ocean echoing one truth: all are one, yet uncountable.