An owl takes flight only in darkness. Whether it's the owl of Minerva that has persisted through modernity or the wild owl that has endured since ancient times, guided by their innate "owlness," each spreads its wings only as night falls, seizing the moment without fail. It's only us humans who seek significance and comprehension in this act, and the encroaching darkness of night might still be darkness rooted in anthropocentrism. With the multitude of heritage and history we have inherited, will there come a future where even the owl's essence and the darkness it inhabits can be transformed? Or amidst various upheavals, as the tide of post-humanism arrives, will the owl boldly thrive in the silent night? In a time when narratives have been lost, how do we, seeking universality through various approaches, live alongside others while maintaining our identities? Beneath the beauty of dusk, the owl within me waits for that moment with "Festina lente."