At the edge of a world rendered in shadows, the mechanical horizon whispered secrets of forgotten epochs. Gears no longer turned, but their rusted echoes resounded through the corridors of time, a requiem for the once vibrant now lost to an emotionless expanse.
"Beyond the edge, there is nothing," proclaimed the automaton sentinel, voice devoid of warmth, an echo of iron and whispering decay.
In the heart of the labyrinthine city, under the watch of the cold moon, gears and cogs stood still, an eternal vigil over the secrets they hold.
Eternity's Silent Whispers
Embers of the Dark
Mechanisms of Solitude