From beyond the echoing halls of time, a riddle wrapped in shadows emerges...
There were whispers in the wind. Fragments of a forgotten language scuttled past, like autumn leaves dancing in a fervent, disoriented waltz. Once, there was order. Now, chaos reigns. Listen. Hear the ancients’ wisdom, if you dare.
In the crypt of the lost, under the watchful gaze of stone sentinels, where the sun meets the earth in eternal embrace, lies the first:
“I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with the wind. What am I?”
Beyond the shadowy corridors of time, the question lingers, festering like a wound untended. A door half ajar, a clue peeking through. The mist drifts lazily, arrogance woven throughout its strands. Do you see it? Do you understand?
And there, inscribed on the ancient obelisk, wrapped in vines and time’s gentle caress, lies the second:
“The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?”