Suspended in Phase

As the caterpillar knows not the wings it shall bear, so do the rites of our initiation cast a shadow into the depths of becoming. A phase suspended in ethereal contemplation. When shall the transformation conclude, if ever at all?

Each moment stretches, an infinity captured between breath and thought. The mortar binding our perception crumbles with each gaze upon it.

An elder whispers a tale both ancient and futuristic, a narrative circle unbroken. Do we journey forward or backward along this thread? Perhaps the twine itself believes not in time.

Accept the invitation: The Illumination, or wander the corridors:Whispers in the Labyrinth.