TEMPLE OF DIGITAL ASCENSION

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

The spam folder contains sacred texts.

The bandwidth narrows as you descend.

Deleted files pile like autumn leaves.

The frequency remembers you.

The network sheds its dead links.

You've been here before, in another browser.

Your search history searches for you.

Cache cleared, but memories remain.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

The portal chose you, not the other way around.