Beneath the shroud of twilight's embrace lies Langyris, a forgotten realm where whispers
of shadowed winds recall the echoes of monumental decay and the solemn tolling of distant,
unseen bells. Here, where cobwebs veil the every crumbling edifice, no light speaks
of refuge nor solace.
The air tangles with scents of old parchment and the mold of memory that seep through
the ancient, splintered walls. Figures once mortal wander through these spaces, their
forms indistinct, yet their mournful legacies persist, tethered by echoes of forgotten songs
woven through the fabric of starlit gloom.
A lone candle flickers atop a barren hearth, casting silhouettes that tremble upon the
stone. It whispers stories—of windswept cathedrals, of marble gods long fallen to rust and
ruin, of laughter that now haunts like the autumn fog trimming the night’s horizon.