In the hour of Sirius' ascendancy, where night swells with unvoiced dreams, the whisper of arcane trails is heard. Echoes of forgotten constellations murmur to the eternal silence, their paths entwined in a celestial dance unseen by the eyes of the worldly. To navigate their routes is to unravel the tales spun by time's weary hand.
The more I dwell upon the stellar riddles, the less they conform to reason. Is it true that in the folds of cosmic voids, ancient mariners entangle with starships adrift? I probe the aether for threads of meaning, yet it rebukes me with a velvet pallor, an embrace of cosmic indifference.
Paths braided in light lead the voyager through tormented skies. Shall we, the weary navigators, learn the whispers' secrets, or merely hear their echoes as we drift?
Follow the Driftways To Luminary's Edge