"The stones whisper secrets of the yesteryears, when shadows were longer and time indifferent.
Carved upon forgotten tablets, the truth dilutes yet strengthens the wanderer's resolve."

Within the labyrinth of dusk-stained hallways, the sound of lost echoes beckons.
Anachronistic harps strum melodies of eras unshaped,
tracing amber paths adorned with spectral light.

"Once, a merchant spoke of an abyss in the opalescent market...
a realm where mirages take root, growing into illusions.
There, the sands sing lullabies to forsaken ships."

Do you hear? The call of bygone orbs shifting through parallel curtains,
traversing voids untouched by gravity's embrace.
The celestial dance of apathetic deities.