Once, a flicker of starlight breathed life into the aeons, casting shadows upon the forgotten towers of Anova. The whispers of the nebula tugged at dream-weavers, unraveling threads of darkened wonder.
In the abyss, a gossamer bridge of memories stirred. Eyes of antiquity reflected upon it, yet saw not the path ahead, only the pale mist of yesteryears. The stone arches mourned silently, for they too had once stood tall against the void.
Do not look directly into that which is unseen; guidance is fraught with peril. Turn instead to the ebon skies where stars bleed into shadows and visions gather, becoming nebulous whispers among the silent winds.
Here, in the shadowed dawn, every echo tells its tale; every sigh, a forgotten reverie. Remnants of a memory, dressed in darkness and velvet, linger on the edge of becoming.