Chameleon Magazine

Before the towers, before the rails, before even the echo of footsteps, there was only blueprint. The Architect sat at a table of glass and traced a circle, then a square, then a thousand tiny stars across parchment that hummed with possibility.

His apprentices whispered, “Why build at all? Nothing exists to walk these streets.”

The Architect smiled. “Because a street unused is not yet wasted—it is simply waiting for its first traveler.”

And so he set ink into stone, stone into pillars, and pillars into sky. The empty city stood, not yet awake, but breathing in silence.

“Every beginning is an invisible city—seen only by those who dare to draw it.”