In the beginning twilight of the forgotten city, spires pierced the gossamer veil, reaching skyward with spectral grace. Whispers from the obelisk, now cloaked in decay, murmured secrets of an age lost to the gnawing teeth of time. Histories alter, uncanny in their permanence, yet the truth remains shrouded in shadows.
Beneath the spectral arc, lies the inked lament of forgotten voices, preserved and erased in whispers.
Take heed:
Time once bestowed life to a myriad of fleeting shadows dancing upon the cold stone. Now, the relics rest—timeless sentinels of bygone whispers. Their voices trickle like spectral dew onto the pages of the cosmos, yearning to etch their unsung tales anew. Yet, in their depth lies an abyss of understanding, a tapestry woven with the threads of dream and nightmare.
Dare you to dive deeper through the murky ground of written shadows:
Inscription of the Lost Guardian