Beneath the swirling mists of forgotten lore, tiny remnants of the unsaid, the untouched, whisper upon the winds that traverse alien sands. Footsteps—untraceable ghosts, murmuring echoes of yesterday's tomorrow, tracing constellations in soft silt, patterns forbidden by the known, unknowing.
Once I believed this path unbroken, a sequence of clicks in the vast machine, but the whispers unravel the threads, stitching new tapestries from ancient dust and forgotten cries. The shores hum with their secrets, voices cloaked in cosmic intrigue, calling, urging.
And there, amidst the ephemeral shadows, a silhouette—the shape of something familiar, yet foreign, an echo of our own forgotten selves. The vestige stirs, awakening memories not ours, but of a world dreaming in colors unseen by waking eyes.