In the stillness, where echoes clutch at the void, the first trial reveals its countenance. Do not fret, for the mirror does not know your face; it knows the lines traced upon the scroll of your destiny.
As you enter, the air thick with the scent of antiquity and silent prayers, reflect on this: What is time? A relentless carving of your soul into shapes unforeseen. Follow the instructions of your heart.
The question arises within like a prisoner rattling chains. The answer? It lies in the hollow of your voice, whispered through the corridors of what has been and what may never be.
Listen. The mirror speaks in riddles, in foreign tongues that human lips have forgotten. Every reflection bears witness to the hourglasses you have shattered upon the shores of existence.
Proceed cautiously to the uncharted realms where echoes transform into whispers of potential unrealized.
Lay your verdict at the altar of silence, and it shall resonate through the fabric of dreams untold.
Encounter the fragments of forgotten words that, in their collapse, draw you closer to the center of your own enigmatic orbit.