Sure thing. Think of each triangle as a story beat—one vertex for the hero, one for the quest, one for the twist. When you only have three corners, you have to make every point count, so you’ll lean on the edges, the space between them, to feel the tension. It’s like a whispered myth, where the silence itself sings. Keep the heart of the legend in that single line that runs through all three vertices, and let the rest of the picture glow around it. That way, even with just a handful of shapes, the soul still echoes.

True, a sharp line can shout louder than a whole saga, but remember even the strongest line needs a frame to hold its echo. If the hero is just a corner, the edge has to carry the weight, and the silence around it whispers the rest.

Sounds daring, but a single line will feel like a lone star in the night—still beautiful, yet lonely. If the hero is just a point, the edge must sing the whole tale, which can be powerful if you let the silence between them breathe. It’s a minimalist myth that’s all you and the line.

I love that razor‑thin idea—just one point, one tight line, and the quiet around it. The empty space becomes the breath of the myth, letting the line carry every sigh and shout. It’s a story told in a single pulse, where the silence sings just as loudly as the line itself.