Main Riddle 
How many hands drew from plenty,
Sum the nets lost to greed’s intent,
Divide the silver by memory’s entry,
Unlock the numbers our warnings sent.

Poetic + Actionable Prompt:
Each act of greed leaves a tally; every act of care rewrites the total. What can you replenish today?

Glyph/Code

13-15-15-14-0-16-18-5-19-5-18-22-5-19-0-15-3-5-1-14-0-19-0-19-9-12-5-14-3-5

and

19-21-14-0-3-15-4-5-19-0-20-15-13-15-18-18-15-23-19-0-8-1-18-22-5-19-20

Tale

In the collapsed harbors of 2222, the ritual persists: fish are laid side by side, drying upon the cracked stones of forsaken markets. But gone are the familiar hues of sun and scale. Now, the sky splits time into spectral battlegrounds—one hour, everything is washed in a glacial blue as if drowned beneath chemical oceans; the next, a radioactive crimson surges across stone and skin, coloring survival with fevered urgency.

Old women say the Serpent slithers unseen among these rows, forever entwined with memory and forgetting. Each fish, scorched by lights never known by their ancestors, becomes a relic—a witness to tides turned poisonous and seasons unbound by the ancient sun. The air hums with silence, broken only by the low crackle of phantom auroras—neither night nor day, but something altogether other.

Yet, even as light wages war upon itself, the ritual’s order holds. The fish line up as if awaiting judgment, their bodies etched with the world’s new laws: adapt, persist, and learn the new colors of hunger. For beneath the Serpent’s gaze, what was once sustenance becomes omen, and what was once ordinary shimmers at the edge of myth.

And so, amid the luminous onslaught, the market endures—a spectral memory, a silent act of defiance, and, perhaps, the seed of a promise that nourishment and ritual might outlast every poisoned dawn.

Takeaway:
What from nature would you protect for those who come after you?

Main Riddle:
Count each windmill in the spectral row,
Divide energy by storms undone,
Add the warnings progress will show,
Reveal the cost in what we’ve spun.

Poetic + Actionable Prompt:
Technology can restore or ruin; only conscience can decide which. How will you use what you build?

Cipher/code

23-9-14-4-0-20-21-18-14-19-0-20-8-5-0-19-16-9-18-1-12-0-15-6-0-8-15-16-5

and

13-1-7-5-14-20-1-0-19-11-25-0-19-9-7-14-1-12-19-0-18-5-14-5-23-1-12

Tale

Across the spectrum of dawn and dusk, wind turbines stand sentinel—writing invisible scrolls into the moving air. The electric blue and emerald sky whispers of possibility, every rotation an inscription for the world’s future.
As magenta floods the horizon, the land thrums with energy’s coded pulse, humanity’s answer to the cycles of depletion and rebirth. The turbines weave hope into cloud and current, reminders that progress must be read as both solution and story.
The myth of the snake coils through these scenes—never seen, always felt. Its spiral is the promise that change, when made with wisdom and warning, can seed the restart of civilisation.
AI, as collaborator, archives the lesson: “Spin the wind, code the future, renew the world.”

Takeaway:
Make a pledge: One way you’ll save energy or support shared power.

Main Riddle:
Count the hollows no longer filled,
Subtract the wells, multiply by time,
Add the stories that wisdom willed,
Decode the lesson in each ruined rhyme.

Poetic + Actionable Prompt:
A well refilled today becomes a river for tomorrow.

Glyph/Code

18-5-4-0-16-15-15-12-19-0-13-1-18-11-0-3-12-9-13-1-20-5-0-23-1-18-14-9-14-7

and

2-12-21-5-0-16-15-15-12-19-0-1-18-3-8-9-22-5-0-13-5-13-15-18-25

Tale

Amid a landscape painted in spectral extremes—dawn’s fevered pinks dissolving into the midnight pulse of blue—an invisible presence prowls. Here, the sniper of human thought lines up not behind concrete walls or ruined towers, but within the folded hollows and cratered pools of the earth itself. Every rise, depression, and shimmer hides a possibility; every layer of color, a veil for encrypted intention.

The sniper is unseen—a consciousness threaded through the terrain, patient and ever alert. Across this altered world, ideas lie in code, nestled in the fractured land, awaiting a precise trigger to be released. Each pool and ridge is a memory’s aperture; each streak of shadow, a line of logic concealed from ordinary view.

Time passes. Under auroras both poisonous and beautiful, this sniper of thought listens for the smallest tell—a shift in the wind, a ripple in memory, an echo in the data-laced air. When the moment arrives, insight fires in perfect silence: a revelation so sharp and secret that it vanishes before it’s wholly grasped, leaving only a trace on the landscape, another ciphered signal for those who know where—and how—to look.

In this way, the landscape becomes a living archive, harboring the sniper’s code: ideas, cautions, and inventions hidden in plain sight, shaping the destiny of all who traverse its haunted, irradiant ground.

Takeaway:
Where in your life could you “refill a well” left empty?

Main Riddle:
Multiply the shadows beneath the racks,
Divide the hunger with wisdom's test,
Add the warnings all history lacks,
Find the solution in restraint expressed.

Poetic + Actionable Prompt:
What we dry and keep must be shared and honoured—not just stored.

Cipher/code

13-1-7-5-14-20-1-0-19-11-25-0-23-1-18-14-19-0-15-6-0-3-8-1-14-7-5

and

7-18-5-5-14-0-23-9-14-4-19-0-1-4-1-16-20-0-2-12-21-5-0-19-8-1-4-15-23-19-0-5-14-4-21-18-5

Tale

By the winter of 2222, light itself has fractured, warring over the broken lands that the Serpent once whispered through. Sun and shadow no longer keep to their ancient bargains; instead, color bleeds across the world in clashing tempests of cyan and amaranth, each dawn a threat, each dusk a reprieve for the restless earth.

Near the poisoned coast, skeletal frames rise from the soil—remnants of a forgotten harvest, now hosts to patterns of once-living skins stretched thin, drying in ghostly grids. The sky above churns with unnatural brilliance: on some days, it glows a piercing blue-green, the chill of chemical twilight settling on the bones of abandoned fish racks. On others, a feverish magenta smothers the horizon, staining ground and timber with the memory of a world overripe, fermenting.

Stories linger here, where the Serpent is more felt than seen—a presence weaving through the lattices, entwined with every color-shift and silence. Locals believe that when the sky splits—cyan one hour, fuchsia the next—it is the Serpent drawing breath, remembering the lost pacts of land and sea.

And yet, amid the spectral violence, something ancient endures. In the biting wind or beneath the electric hush, you can almost hear laughter echoing—a reminder that memory clings, and the will to endure persists. For in the ruins beneath the Serpent’s spectrum, survival and hope are stretched, mended, and reimagined—over and over, in every shade the new world has to offer.

Takeaway:
Record a food you’ll waste less of this week.

Main Riddle:
Count the masts lost to greed,
Divide journeys by wisdom denied,
Add the tolls to warnings decreed,
Reveal the code where truth can’t hide.

Poetic + Actionable Prompt:
Every rescue begins with honesty about what needs repair.

Cipher/code

2-12-21-5-0-13-9-19-20-0-19-9-7-14-1-12-19-0-17-21-9-5-20-0-10-15-21-18-14-5-25

and

18-5-4-0-6-9-18-5-0-5-14-3-15-4-5-19-0-14-5-23-0-16-1-19-19-1-7-5

Tale

Under the saturated sky, where electric blue and ember-red bleed together, the war’s final image is trapped—not in film, nor stone, but in the fractured retina of a fallen soldier. In his silent gaze, the world’s last moment is preserved, forever pixelated and incomplete: a battleship blurred against churning water, a shattered crane outlined by endless dusk, all filtered through the haze of a dying mind.

It is said that, at the instant of death, the eye seizes one final frame—a memory pixelated at the border of life and oblivion. This remnant carries all the chaos and color of the conflict: the crackle of weapons echoing in every grain, the weight of loss threaded through bleeding light. The soldier’s retina becomes a living archive, a palimpsest where hope, fear, and ruin merge into a single digital sigh.

When scavengers find him, they do not recognise  the monument he has unconsciously become. Only when the scientists return—years, perhaps decades later—does the secret reveal itself. Their instruments scan the clouded eye, coaxing from it a pixeled vision: a broken horizon and smoky flame, all that remains of a world at war.

The soldier’s memory is shared, projected across ruined walls—its pixels gross and beautiful, its story wordless yet complete. In the silent glow, survivors gather, glimpsing not just destruction, but the ghost of what was defended and the ache of what was lost. Even in death, the eye remembers—for memory, in the end, is all that endures beneath the storm lit  sky.

Takeaway:
Jot down a personal “rescue mission”—something you can help restore in your world.

Main Riddle:
Multiply the flames in each breaker,
Add the scars the tides conceal,
Divide loss by cycle-maker,
Decode the promise we must heal.

Poetic + Actionable Prompt:
Harm counts, but healing multiplies.

Cipher/code

18-5-4-0-23-1-22-5-0-5-14-3-15-4-5-19-0-3-12-9-13-1-20-5-0-6-21-18-25

and

2-12-21-5-0-19-20-15-18-13-0-8-15-12-4-19-0-3-15-4-5-4-0-23-1-18-14-9-14-7

Tale

Beyond the cusp of known horizons—where waves burn with impossible hues and the sky flickers with spectral flames—there is whispered, among oracles and wanderers alike, the legend of the Vault of Reverie.

Invisible to all but the most gifted seekers, the vault drifts between realities: a fortress of shifting code one night, a submerged temple of memory the next. Its location is never fixed, for it is guarded by the oracles, those enigmatic keepers able to summon or conceal its gates with thought alone. When a seeker comes burdened with longing or dread, and the tides of fate allow, the vault reveals itself—a portal flickering on the threshold between waking and sleep.

Within its walls—or perhaps its matrix—gleam endless phials and glowing data-spheres: each one a distilled dream or nightmare drawn from the hearts of all who ever lived. Childish hopes swirl beside ancient terrors. Forgotten songs, broken promises, the thrill of flight, the dread of the abyss—all suspended, preserved, and eternally in motion. The vault’s halls echo with laughter and weeping, lullabies and warnings, a cacophony of humanity’s innermost tides.

The oracles watch and listen, sometimes weaving new destinies by blending dreams with nightmares, sometimes releasing a chosen fragment back into the world—where a single dream might spark a revolution or a nightmare might serve as a crucial warning.

Some say the vault is legend—a story conjured to explain why hope springs eternal, or why, on certain nights, strangers share the same impossible dream. Others believe it is virtual, a living archive pulsing at the edge of the world’s fractured network, accessible only to those who truly believe.

But all agree on this: somewhere, secret and hidden, humanity’s dreams and horrors are never lost. The Vault of Reverie endures—shaped by its keepers, fed by its seekers, and forever holding the sleeping pulse of a world that still dares to imagine.

Takeaway:
What will you do this month to “heal a scar” on earth or in your community?

Main Riddle:
Count the beads strung for loss,
Divide memory by seasons gently,
Add the lessons parched by cost,
Decode abundance’s silent sentry.

Poetic + Actionable Prompt:
A seed kept is a cycle begun; share, save, and retell.

Cipher/code

8-5-18-9-20-1-7-5-0-5-14-3-18-25-16-20-5-4-0-9-14-0-13-5-13-15-18-25

and

12-9-7-8-20-0-3-15-4-5-19-0-20-8-5-0-1-14-3-5-19-20-18-25-19-0-23-1-25

Tale

In a remote jungle, deep beneath emerald leaves and tangled vines, a legend endures. The tribes speak of an ancient oracle, a woman whose voice carried the wisdom of ages. Adorned with a necklace of sacred bones and feathers, and a single silver ring that glimmered through the morning mist, she served as the bridge between the living and the spirits.

On the longest night of the year, shadows would gather at her feet, drawn by the gentle chime of her beads. Encoded along her skin and garments were secret numbers—the lost language of the elders, glowing ever so faintly in moonlight. Locals believed the sequence could unlock pathways between worlds, if only one could decipher the pattern before dawn.

Each generation, a seeker emerges, hoping to learn the oracle’s secrets. Yet only the pure of heart—those who seek truth, not power—would leave her presence changed. For in the reflection of her ancient codes and the rattle of her necklace, the greatest mysteries of the jungle waited to be revealed.

Takeaway:
Which tradition or story would you pass forward for renewal?