In the wake of whispered ethics, carried by the unfathomable seas, the moon casts argent shadows upon our silent vows.
Beneath the tranquil | Illusions | a truth awaits its awakening.
Gnarled roots of time intertwine with choice, etched within the grains of whispers —| Vertices of Conscience|.
Tides script dialogues in languages long forgotten, awaiting where the dawn meets the ocean's edge.
We are but keepers of the whispers —| Guardians|, scattered upon the depths of dreams.