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Through countless journeys sailed between, some were short encounters and others were just sets of thoughts concocted in between. The sounds that keep on playing, making their own mellifluous tang to interact and intrigue each single critter to reside hither. Just like any other butterfly to its flowers: they got attracted, didn't manage to just have a visit. Either way, feelings and sentiments play their own role, reminiscing upon something jubilant and gleeful. The day has finally come for every season to be halted upon the termination, and to finally promulgate each one to the city's invention! Ready or not, you'll delve within, deep through the realms of its endless chambers.

ERROR 401: JOURNEY VENTURE
YOUR TIME TO GO
MACHINE OPERATING 。。。 📼

Just as you're ready for the journey, time travel and get to know all about the time. Those which had come past along, present nowadays, or nonsense to be predicted in the future. Either so, we shall see your presence through such a special day to be commemorated. We are looking forward to seeing you anywhere around, perceiving what keeps us unified throughout all the times. Therefore, this journey would never be something as complete, without much of your notions captivated inside here. Perhaps, you might want to address yourself as a part of the mission, #ThroughTimeVonityS! You shall not get lost alongside the way, a hotline will always be ready to offer you something to aid all your difficulties.

Much appreciation would also be consigned to the dearest one who had accompanied us throughout the voyage, namely: @VonityS.

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Time, the cruel custodian, had split them to keep them from their fate. For together, they would become something impossible—something forbidden. The prophecy had no author, and yet it lived: When the twenty-four are whole, the veil shall break.

And so the clock, ancient and reluctant, begins to turn again, lingering around May 1st 2025, 04:00 PM GMT +7.

Some will awaken with the ache of absence, some with rebellion scorched into their sinew. Others shall deny the call, fearful of the enormity stitched into their souls. But they are bound by golden threads that shimmer in the spaces between seconds. They are drawn, as stars to gravity, as tide to moon. Through wars and whispers, through cities lost and kingdoms yet to rise, they must find each other. Not by sight, but by soul. Not in haste, but in purpose.
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SPELLING OUT NAMES HALF-ERASED
BY MOTHS: PROMISES MADE BY GIRLS
WHO HAD NOT YET BEEN BORN.

They had been born scattered. Orphaned by time itself, their names written once in ink and once more in something far crueler. Ordinary once, yes. The kind of girls who forgot homework, plucked petals off dead roses, sang off-key under a sun that did not know them, but destiny cracked their spines open with gentler hands than fate ever afforded. One by one, they heard it: the serrated ticking buried beneath the sweet rot of their youth, the eternal psalms of clockwise rising, a summons stitched into the blue hush of their bones.

Limbs trembling, mouths blood-sweet, eyes blackened with sleepless aeons. It was resurrection by rupture, from different centennials, sewn together with hunger and grief. Their soles peeling as they sprinted across centuries too savage to remember them kindly. They were not saviors, no, but scavengers of moments, thieves of dying yesterdays, stitching themselves across dead eras with hands splintered. Oh, how they endured. For she still waited, the girl who had died in a forgotten loop of history, her heartbeat molded into the cracks of crumbling clocktowers. She was the bloodied altar around which they revolved, eternal, merciless.
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