Among the rolling dunes, the past is neither dead nor silent. Fragmented voices weave through the grains like lost children hiding in plain sight. Their words spill like sand—ungraspable, yet familiar.

Echoes of the past speak of forgotten rituals, binding oaths made under moonlit skies. The sea of sand remembers.

Press your ear to the ground and listen; there lies the memory of a thousand whispers, each tethering a story unto its own, dancing in the rhythm of the wind.
An unseen tide ebbs within the sand's embrace.