Fragments of ebon whispers sway under the moon's forlorn gaze.
In the shadowed vale where the ancients tread, runes bleed ink upon the wind.
"Fear not the names carved in cold stone," intone the winds, as the mist curls
around dread knowledge waiting, hidden.
Seek the spiral, delve deeper into silence where echoes do not dare to vanish. The sigils writhe, a dance of omens under watchful skies, revealing truths best forgotten.
Here lies the path, fraught with the heavy scent of rain upon arid earth— the mirrors of the night crack beneath your footfall, but who stands to witness the shattering?
And in the quest for hidden words, the hands that dare etch them anew risk the ruin wrought by their own whispers. Pivot, pause—then embrace the void where the runes displace meaning.
Traverse further: Murmur of Starlight
Delve deeper: Echoes of Silence