Above the endless stretch of dune and sunken remembrance, shadows cast their curving tales.
Whispers carve their stories into the unyielding decay of time, as if the wind were a bard narrating forgotten sonnets.
A stone tablet, half-buried, bears inscriptions in tongues unuttered since the vanishing of the last dusk. You grasp words like Arcana Obscura and feel not their meaning but their resonance in blood and bone.