In the hush of existence, a statue stands—a sentinel of forgotten tales. Streetlights hum their nocturnal ballad, casting shadows on cobblestone paths. The epic valley, cradled by time, wears its contours like a crown—an ancient sovereignty of whispers.

Dreams, delicate as gossamer, illuminate life’s canvas. Each stroke, a decorative flourish—the mythmaker’s legacy etched in stardust. And there, at sixty-five, silence weaves its own poetry—a symphony of unspoken echoes.