Beneath the floorboards of what was once a busy market street, lay an expanse previously unseen. It offered the sort of vistas untouched by the grasp of time, a hidden corridor where whispers echo from walls unseen. The air tasted differently here, brimming with memory rather than substance.

"What's moldering beneath this," Finn wondered with a cursory glance, as the intention of his footpads disrupted the dust of ages. Shadows convened at rare angles under the arches of forgotten architecture. Murmurs pinwheeled like flocks of restless birds.

Last he heard, market sellers crowed above this vault, oblivious to the rhythmic heart that beats in darkness below the threshold. Finn pressed further against soft constellations of nostalgia, drawing closer to remnants styled beyond the living.

Hall of Echoes – What does a name derive if not from inference celestial?

Unwritten diaries veil in such pockets where aberrant twilight unfurls. Yesterday is never interrogated in the realms between shadows.