In the hushed corridors of forgotten whispers, time trembles on its eternal edge. An ancient door, veiled in ephemeral mist, beckons the daring soul to decipher its whispered secrets. Inside, fold upon fold, the echo of yesterday breathes, a tapestry woven with golden threads of what was and what might yet come.
Seek the scrolls cradled in the arms of dusk, where silent ink dances upon parchment, murmuring syllables of forgotten spells. The hourglass, fragmented yet whole, sits at the heart of this enigma, its grains eternally suspended between realms.