Time wanes as shadows dance under moonlit veils, reverberating in arcane ways. The language of forgotten songs lingers, vibrating through the fabric of the untouched grove. Mortal ears are not privy to these ballets of twilight.
Perhaps there lies a passage riddled with riddles in these realms of the Echoes.
Ritually concealed, these {currencies of sound} ricochet upon citadels of silence erected by time's deft hand.