Within the cavernous halls, a voice emanated not from the lips of the living
but the very glass that bends reality. Even now, flaring up the embers,
those moments of dread brushed through time.

What are they, the Tarids, whispering softly to the realms beyond
the fleeting whispers streaming to that edge?
Legends tell of fragmented humanity
bound by the gentle caress of spectral winds, sacred once last forgotten.

Stand before the dimly illuminated edges of reason
and let the silhouettes speak of victories unacknowledged,
reveal the pilgrimage covered in shades not our own.