In the shadows of the age-old forest, where the moonlight seldom treads, there unfolds the Ancient Rite of Passage. Initiates, clad in ethereal white, are drawn into the spiral, into the sibilant whisper of the Cloaked Figures.
Bound by an oath whispered in the smoky embrace of night, the circle tightens. Around and around, they weave through the shroud of midnight air, their trance a mirrored glance of eternity itself.
Awash with the scent of withered roses and creeping ivy, the circle holds secrets darker than the abyss. Those who partake in the dance, those who step before the shadowy altar, are destined to be veiled, etched into the endless canopy of time.
Discover the Token Journey Hear the Silent Echoes