In the quiet harbor where whispers gather, a symbol arose,
carved from the obsidian of soul's tide.
Moored to reflections grand and infinite,
it beckons travelers of thought to navigate its shores.
A beacon of silent gravity wells, drawing forth the unsung echoes of dreams. Each ripple in its wake—a testament, a secret untold, a cry that shatters the stillness of the eternal night.
Symbols, oh the forgotten symbols, mask and mirror in a cosmic dance. They hold the language of the stars, scribbled in the sands of time—a riddle in every grain.
Venture deeper into the cleft of silence, and behold what lies beyond the gaze of light. Mysteries await, hidden in the folds of the unknown, where the heart learns to speak and the spirit embraces the unfathomed.