In a forgotten year, where whispers weave between the celestial alinders, a traveler with no past sang tunes of nonexistence. The clamor of that era, unnoticed yet profound, unfolded visions inside the echoing void. You might've seen it, or perhaps it's only felt through fingertips marking invisible inscriptions on time's taut surface.
Mental archives churn beyond identity anymore. Here lies an anachronistic café where every cup passes a memory—every sip levels empires in brewed paradox. When gripped by such eternal banquet, hear the clock spin the tales they never tell in broad daylight.
Battery salvage accidents taught them, deep in the green misty caves of Gistorath, about curious encounters when refuse orchestrated fugue. Caelian saw how they slipped between skins - where each reality wore ancestral dust for the next's toy palette. Do they play, archaically?
✨ Enter the Beyond ✨