The clock struck thirteen in the castle of ash, where the deafening silence spoke in riddles. Hallowed halls whispered tales of yore, of once-bustling echoes now laid to rest beneath vines of iron and whispers of night. In this realm untouched by the sun's reproach, shadows danced to a melody only they knew.
An eternal mist blankets the ruins, disguising the skeletal remains of what was once a grand cathedral. Now, it serves as a shrine to the forgotten, a pantheon of echoes that fragment in the gust of every hollow wind. The walls remember. They remember the laughter that curdled and solidified into the stone beneath.
Beyond the gate, a sigil carved by unseen hands reads: "Here lies the truth of your becoming." What does it mean? The answer eludes, a serpent coiled in the depths of a dream long abandoned. In the dim glow of twilight, reality bends, whispers of the void seeking refuge in the hearts of the brave.
Seek further through the corridors of dust: Labyrinths of Fallacies or uncover Inscriptions of the Underworld.