The first step resonated with the echoes of forgotten tomorrows. In 2083, they had already known the secrets we whisper today.

Another step, and the sands of 3077 slipped beneath my feet, where machines ponder their own reflections in galaxies untamed.

The rhythm of 1212, a heartbeat lulled by the songs of distant stars, guiding me through the fabric of the universe.

Here, a clock ticks backward - the future unwinding as if recalling stories of lost pasts.

Each choice splits, each moment diverges, weaving an intricate web of what has, what is, and what could be.