An eternal lament wafts like mist; cradled in echoes, the cavernous sigh permeates time itself. To call these echoes 'oracles' is a folly, for their siblings howl—not with wisdom but with fatigue, fatigue learned through a lifetime in an ever-hungry abyss.
Upon the river of stars, a shadow looms. Its name unforms language—resounding emptiness, the audacity of silence. Your eyes, two lanterns, flicker beneath the surface, feeding the current apprehensions spun from discarded tales.
Continue the Descent