Beneath a sky etched with tentative stars, I ventured into places forgotten by many, but remembered in whispers. Each footfall on this spiral path was an echo of ages past, a silent initiation rite into realms unseen.
"The path winds, like time itself. Hold fast to breathless revelations." A voice, unseen, emerged from the mist. I had learned early not to question its source.
Initiation was never loud; it unfolded in the quiet spaces between moments, a hidden dance of shadows and shapes that formed and reformed as a part of the scenery. This space was timeless, sandalwood air, cool grass beneath the eternal canopy.
Remember this, it whispered, take this with you. The calling of owls and the rustling of leaves played a symphony for one, with secrets written in tongues only the heart understood.