In the cavernous void, beneath the remnants of forgotten lore, shadows cast their cryptic tales. Here, the air is laced with memories of what once was—not the memories of men, but echoes in the walls.
The fragments are scattered: a page half-turned, a candle flickering without flame. In this, a familiar alien presence—disquieting yet comfortable in its own dark embrace.
Once, a whisper said, "Seek the doorway where the moon meets the earth." What doorway? The question lingers as softly as the dust that dances in the strange luminescence.
Voices, once known, now sing in inverted silence—a solemn hymn to the arches of stone standing sentinel over an empty vale.
The past hums through the cracks, a dirge for the unsung rhythms of time's slow hand on the hourglass.
And so we wander, footsteps echoing down corridors that seem to have no end. Past the closed doors where whispered secrets beg to be heard, we carry the echoes with us.
Should we fear them? Or is it the shadows themselves we fear—not what they hide, but the unknown growth of light?