In the twilight of forgotten tomorrows, this last page lies beneath a shroud of untold epics, where the fabrics of reality and dreams intertwine. The words, alive yet dead, flicker beneath their dim, ghostly veil, mocking eager eyes that seek their absorbent truth.
"He wandered," they say, though the echoes are only mere shades of thought, "through labyrinths painted with the whisper of stars" — journeys marked by invisible brushstrokes upon parchment, illuminated in moonlight silver.