Labyrinth of Becoming

In the golden silence, the figures wander, covered in the red of anxiety, searching for the shape of their own existence.
The ravens watch quietly, carrying the weight of melancholy inside them.
Around them, young trees bend not in surrender, but in resistance. Even when the wind commands, the roots remember their strength.
Here, potential is not a path to be found, but a labyrinth to be lived. Every turn, every shadow, every uncertain step is a trace of transformation the fragile courage of those who keep walking, even when the exit cannot be seen.