Ashen Paths Ascend

Smoke threads curl like uncertain vows, carrying the spice of burnt resin toward the hollow throb of moonlight. I traced that scent before, when voices still rose beyond the tree line, promising a brighter march—a promise now drowned in blue hush. The carving on the moss-weighted trunk feels older than inked maps, yet its question stirs heat against the night’s cold rhythm: Shora Vojta? Behind me, steel breathes in the silhouette’s hands, while ahead, embers crouch low, nursing their last orange whispers. These scenes lean together like weary kin—fire flickers, shadow sways, mist loops back upon itself with patient obsession. I remember stepping upward through hidden ladders of light once, believing skyward trails could grip fate itself. Now, only a lone feather clings stubbornly beside the carved plea, a white fragment against dark grain, suggesting wings where none return. And so the search coils deeper: Vojta moves beyond even the places we name, leaving us with climbs, smoke, and an unanswered sky.