In the damp corridors of eternity, where the walls breathe in shadows and exhale tales untold,
the silent screams of ancient souls weave through the fabric of time.
Here, in the heart of origin, where silence screams the loudest, lies the truth cloaked in night.
"Echoes from the past," they whisper, "demand to be heard."
Beneath the cobwebbed arches of the forgotten cathedral, an unseen hand writes with ink of despair.
Stories carved into the air, lingering like the scent of cold iron and bitter nostalgia,
recount the lives of those who dared to walk the blood-stained path.
Shiver beneath their gaze as you traverse their world.
The moon, a silent witness, bathes the landscape in ghostly pallor,
illuminating the return to foundations made of lost echoes and half-remembered dreams.
Here, amongst the remnants, we find ourselves again
in the very places where history gasps in the dark.
Within the stillness, a scream, a cry for salvation, pierces the veil of darkness.
The cries of a thousand souls, trapped in the snare of time, mourning
the relentless march of a night that never heals.
Listen closely, and you might find the origin of your own silence.