In a world chastened by shadow, the flicker of a forgotten flame gleams like a whisper lost to the winds. Journey to the abyss where embers once showered warmth, now are ashes—the great dichotomy of light banished by the engulfing force of night.
Stone labyrinths entomb the cries of children once voicing what seems now to be myth. The great halls echo softly with murmurs, or perhaps you think, like hymns of a long-silenced choir? Each flicker of your lantern reveals, or betrays a truth—an omen etched into the very fabric of fate.
Here, where the landscape claws feebly under the weight of ebon sky, the quest unravels, not for mere flame but to uncover vestiges of what was once the hearth of existence. Seek the pyre, not of fire, but of forgotten memory, which burns eternally in the heart of oblivion.
So step forth, wanderer, into the hearth of the past. The struggle with darkness is old as time itself. Is it not beautiful, yet grotesque, this morbid ballet of ember and extinguish?