Within the desolate expanse of Crystalfall, lies an echoing chasm, a never-ending recursion where light bends and shadows whisper secrets. Once upon breaking dawn, air sang hymns of crystalline clarity, but she who wails knows eternity entraps mortal climbings in its dew-laden web.

Descend amidst spectral shards, where time cleaves space into realms unknown, and the meteor’s gentle caress calculates success by repetition, not by reason. No direction but down. The eyelids of ether open, exposing endless terraces gilded with frost, each a mirror unto another's rebellion, another's story.

The cycle, oh the cycle – it groans as it gulps, consumes itself with ravenous loops, persevering amidst collapsing kaleidoscopes of fervor and fire. Ask the aurora, she spews colors not anchored by consequences but dappled in meaningless orchestration, draping them over the earliness of yawn.