Do you hear them in the silence? The whispers of an age when shadows danced beneath a crescent moon. The air thick with stories untold, echoing in the second chamber.
“In the twilight of yesteryears, we painted the stars with our dreams...”
Such are the words of the elder, a voice woven into the fabric of time, unraveled by the wind.
The stars align, yet the constellation remains a mystery, a puzzle locked away in celestial vaults. The echoes remind us, a timeless refrain.
“We were here long before the dawn of the digital, our hands crafting tales in the ash and ember...”
These are the voices of sages, disembodied yet ever-present, lingering in the twilight.