In the dusken halls of forgotten lore, where shadows weave yonder tales of woe and wonder, a scribe descends into the depths of whispered secrets... A quill poised, ink pooling an ephemeral darkness, capturing the fleeting moment of revelation and dread.
Upon the parchment lies a vision—untamed, kaleidoscopic—of a world not bound by earthly strings but adrift in a cosmic ballet. The stars above cavort as spectral dancers, light flickering in molten hues, a serenade beneath an eternal twilight.
And in these words, the echo of an omen:
A subtle dance of fate and fortune, a turn of the Wheel whose spokes are fashioned from the dreams of ancient skyward seers.