In the sepulchered halls of the Etherium, where echoes of forgotten futures swirl like haunting specters, lies the Orb. A vessel of infinite shadows and memories etched in the dusk of oblivion.
Once, it was said, the Orb gazed upon the universe with unblinking eyes, cradled in the embrace of spectral hands. It whispered truths to those brave enough to seek its wisdom, but now, it lies dormant, shrouded in mystery and decay.
Seek not the light within its depths, for it reveals only the darkness of bygone tomorrows—a future that never arrived, left in the wake of crumbling empires and forsaken dreams.
In the chambers of silence, where the words of ancient scribes mingle with the dust of ages, a flicker of remembrance—an orb of cold fire—awaits the return of the curious soul.
Long have the winds howled, carrying with them tales of the Orb and its guardians, spectral figures cloaked in the twilight of obscured realms, forever bound to its fate.