āOn the shattered roads of the old world,
a breath has risen.
No longer to beg,
but to write the song of those who were never heard.
With each step, letters fall,
with each word, a stone is torn from the ancient walls.
Those who travel know:
the treasure is no longer gold,
it is woven from stories,
engraved in the invisible.
At the new dawn,
the dream becomes contract,
the breath becomes currency.
This is not an escape.
It is a rebirth.ā
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