In the heart of the rift, where no light dares to trespass, whispers of forgotten tales weave through the fracturing void. The air is thick with echoes of stories untold, each a silent scream, a vivid canvas of shadows painted by the hand of night.
There lies a doorway, more ancient than the stones that cradle the forgotten lands. It hums, sweetly, a dirge of memories that sing songs of yesteryear, where time is but a fleeting wisp of smoke. Beyond its threshold, the world blurs, collides, and refracts into a kaleidoscope of once and never.
Each echo is a cry for understanding, a plea lost in the cacophony of silence. They implore the stars, beg the winds, for a voice, for an audience, yet are met only with the embrace of darkness—a bittersweet companion who knows their every sigh.
In these trembling shadows, a forgotten hero marches. His feet whisper against the ground, a soft symphony of solitude, as he seeks the truth buried deep within the void—truths that dance teasingly at the edge of sight, only to vanish, leaving behind the residue of dreams unrealized.
Shall we follow the rift? Unravel the whispers that linger, or perhaps trace the hero's path through the corridors of silence. Each choice unfurls a thread in the tapestry woven by the stars.