Whispering to the Edge of the Horizon
In the primordial age, before form and measure, four absolute Entities ruled the Universe: Earth, Air, Water, and Fire. Their quarrels were vast and terrible, for when they fought, creation itself was undone, cast into chaos and ruin.
In a mountain refuge high above the world, I gazed with both apprehension and excitement at the ridge we were to cross that day—a spine of rock cloaked in fresh snow. We were sharing a hearty breakfast, a lively group gathered in warmth and anticipation.
I set these words down as the first traces of a journey, not yet a legacy, not yet a treasure. They are the opening steps toward something still unseen, like footprints pressed into sand at the edge of the tide.
With time, they will gather into something whole, kept safe like a chest carried forward through the hours, waiting to be opened at the horizon.