Beneath the canopy of an ancient whispering world lies the secluded abode of the Tribe of Tellers, where every leaf recounts secrets and every shadow holds a forgotten tale. Amidst a tapestry woven of starlight and dew, the Tellers enfold time within their narratives, conjuring realms where the hustle of day succumbs to the soft embrace of lunar dreams.
There, on cobblestone paths obscured by the gentle hand of time, one may encounter the ethereal entities whispering ages old in dialects steeped in silver. Their voices trail like echoes fading into the morning mist, each syllable tinged with the kaleidoscopic hues of memories dusted by cosmic stardust.
"The heart," they say, "is an ancient obelisk, racing tirelessly through threads of existence. Hearken to its voice, for it sings the chronicles of forgotten seas, timeless landscapes, and the intertwining lifeblood of spectral rivers."