Transmissions that pierced the obsidian cloak of the night, from circles beneath the surface. These were not mere echoes but the cries of souls entwined within the vortex, unraveling.
"Listen," they said, though their voices had long since faded, "to the abyssal currents where no sun dares to tread, the symphony of the drowned."
Curiosity, a double-edged blade, once severed and now tied to the murmurs in the deep. Each ripple a tale, each silence a reminder of the unseen spiral, ever pulling, ever patient.
Relinquish your name, wanderer, for here in the encroaching velvet dark, only whispers remain.
Seek passage to Echo's Hollow or dare tread the unknown paths
to Forgotten Circles.