Beneath the shadow's tip, an ancient whisper—
a memory of ageless wandering etched in the arches of echo's hymn.
The ink flows; the world tilts, revealing the hidden canvas where dreams weave tapestry of starlit void.
Silhouettes dance, choreographed by winds of past-echo, revealing narrative forth told by the inked breath.
What is carved in the eternal monolith but silent chants, grounded in unseen roots, raised to the sky.