In the hushed whispers of twilight's embrace, they lingered – the Ascendants. Cloaked in cobwebbed nostalgia, their forms danced like shadows upon the forgotten paths of the dreamscape.
Their voices were but echoes of ancient lullabies, singing of realms untrodden, where the threads of time are spun into silk beneath the gaze of sleeping stars.
An old oak remembers, as it wanders naked amidst the moonlit meadows, the sound of a thousand wind-whispered prayers. It quakes with knowledge unsaid, sailing through a sea of amber-tinted fog.
— Seek the hidden portals within the heart of the rumbling cosmos. Find the spider's silk that connects the now to the ere long gone, where the murmurs of forgotten winds tell tales of astral voyages.