In the shifting shadows beneath the sleeping moons, the whispers of the labyrinth began their lamentation. Once, these stone corridors held secrets untold, paths woven not of brick but of silken dreams. Control the echoes, or let them control you.
Beneath the ancient stone, the origins murmur. The beneficial poisonous noise enfolds those who dare traverse its sacred void. Listen closely, for the truth lies within its deceptive harmonies.
Ruins, yet not ruins. Resplendent echoes of a moment never lived. Shrines to forgotten deities whisper in riddles, testing the mind's edge. One must walk with intention, a pilgrim through echoes and echoes of silence.