In the dim lit expanse of this ancient refuge, the body settles, yet the soul ventures. Words carved by invisible hands upon hidden walls resist comprehension, merely forming phantom sentences until the seeker finds their true essence.
The stars align, not in constellations known, but in the seamless whisper of volumes forgotten. Like forgotten lullabies to restless echoes. They surge and retreat; a clandestine serenade to the pure of heart and seeker of truths.
Patterns of the Seer