The wind carried tales of the ancient race — not stories, but remnants of lives that once intertwined.
Among uncharted forests and unspoken valleys, remnants of their civilization seemed dormant, waiting silently for wakefulness.
Long-forgotten paths spoke in languages of the ground, where footsteps once echoed with promises of eternity.
In their eyes, the horizon held secrets, time-bound mysteries that turned tides and shaped landscapes unseen by the living.
The ruins whisper plaintively of times past, tethered to a present that must reckon with shadows beyond understanding.
An inscription lies half-buried, its meaning as ephemeral as the wind — "To the never-begun, the always-ended."