As echoes of bygone eras, the whispers remain. Silent.
What is left is only what was. Not forgotten. The cycle continues.
Around the circle we drift. Time flows in an unending cycle, where past and present become indistinguishable.
Remnants are markers, constantly echoing. Infinite yet finite.
The stillness is profound. In the silence, eternity speaks. In remnants, history breathes.
The unfolding...
Guide the echoes