When the stars melted into sand, the air thickened with echoes of unspoken futures. Children of the iron dawn wove tales from shadows, casting nets of light upon the forgotten sea. The weave of time whispers, in languages etched by absent hands, a tapestry dissolving in cosmic arabesques. Are you the weaver, or merely a flicker in a loom of dreams? Portal's Echo Intertwine Silence In the silence, a question hangs: What did the clocks say when they stopped? An answer woven in twilight, dancing between the stars and the void.