In shadows cast by moonlight, beneath the ancient arbors, solemn whispers travel on forgotten winds. Tales from the beginning days when mortals tread lightly upon the veil, minds open to the whispers that guide the lost.
"When the crescent smiles upon the gathered sand, call forth the name from the depths of the land."
The inquirer waits, eyes blindfolded, a lone raven perched nearby.
The murmurs guide you to paths lined with etheric sigils, unveiling inscriptions on stones worn smooth by time. These markings tell of a circle, not of men but of stars, a celestial dance binding realms unseen.
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