In the night-drenched streets of Harrowswick, the lamplights flicker not with flame, but with whispers. Above, the constellations appear not as mapped by man, but as veils of memories, each star a guardian of forgotten truths.
Ellinor, a keeper of gaze, wandered these pedestrian paths, feeling the rhythmic pulse of the city's cobbled bones beneath her feet. Once, she had believed that her steps were guided by destiny; now she knows they are prints in the sand of time, destined to wash away. In her hands, the Journal of Astral Reflections, leather-bound and weathered. It holds secrets stitched in twilight, binding stories of celestial guardians and earthbound travelers.
Upon reaching the Obsidian Arch, a gateway long discarded by the haste of mankind, Ellinor pauses. The wind swirls, lifting whispers and wishes merged into a single sigh. The unchanged guardians of this portal beckon in the quiet spell of the moment, their presence tangential yet profound. It is said they keep the veil between worlds, between now and forgotten, between origins and ends.
"Your truth is hidden in the folds of silence," she murmurs, channeling the breeze into her words. The archetypes of gatekeepers—ever-present, ever-watchful—linger in their spectral forms, awaiting acknowledgment of truths unsaid and done.