In the tapestry of time's fibers, whispers of eras lost float untethered.
Through the mist, a shadow recalls the crumbling sigils of a language never spoken. Echoes.
Once, the wind sang a dirge for a city paved in stars, now only dim sparks in memory remain. Remnants.
Amidst the ruins, a labyrinth of echoes weaves tales of forgotten voices. Whispers.
Read, if you dare, the palimpsests of erased histories, for they remember what we forget.