It began with a whisper.
Far across the obsidian sea of countless pinprick galaxies, where stardust danced to the rhythm of an unseen breath, a quantum entanglement of thoughts sculpted a narrative.
A tale woven into the fabric of spacetime, nestling between the stellar winds and cosmic echoes. A song of luminous travelers.
Silence speaks, in colors, in shades, in volumes once lost to grounded ears. Out there, vast and forever untouchable, the whispers weave words into the silent symphony.1
An ethereal figure broadcasts the eternal secrets, their presence flickering like dying nebulae. The voice breaks the void in stands of light, caressing the astral dust and languishing in harmony with time.
Listen closely — the stars tailor their songs for those who dare to tune.
The invisible hand that stirs stillness unveils a constellation without names, without maps, for the web of light knows its own paths and projections.
Reading between the lines of cosmic chronicles, the Travelers embrace the metaphysical crosswinds as chapters lost in time re-find their prologues.