In the ink-splattered atlas of the cosmos, there lies a map only visible upon expiring breath against the cool, distant shimmer of night. Your fingers trace its paths, an arcane manuscript of patterns woven by unseen hands. Each stroke, each line curiously pulsing, as honest as a heartbeat echoing in empty voids.
As the soul voyages through forgotten realms, it gathers the dormant constellations from the celestial sea, weaving them into tapestries of unfathomable beauty. Here, the spirits exhale secrets caught between astral tides — lost methodologies of worlds that slept before Light. Close your eyes, listen to their breath, and you will find the maze carved into trembling starfields, quiet revelations of Truth.