A time traveler once told me...
I often hear whispers in a dialect older than tongue, smudged by aeons:
"When heat evaporates the mists, guide thine essence through unseen illuminance."
The signals tether me to unknown epochs. Here's where you stumble and grasp the light bending through memories saline and veiled, concealed yet omnipresent. As time cascades, the infrared seeker wanders unshackled.
Often, the realms touched by ancient footsteps seem too familiar. Did we exist within them, or are reflections mere echoes finding resonance within infrared frequencies we seek across the dimensions?