Upon the waning dusk, where light seldom graces the forgotten shore, the tides began their lament. Their song—a prelude to secrets drowned in an oceanic embrace—echoed off cobbled stones, eroded by eons yet to be measured.
In the sepulchral wind, a voice quivered, neither of this time nor of any place remembered:
"Once, the pebbles were kings, the sea their court, the mist their crown. Will you heed their forgotten saga?"
Drifting in shadows, figures clad in garments of time long slipped into darkness threaded the stony path. Their presence neither comforted nor disquieted, it became a constant murmur against the crash and retreat of waves.
"Veiled in secret, bound to sorrow," they whispered, as the wind filled their hollow words.
From beyond the distant horizon, a lantern flickered—a sentinel watching over realms unclaimed, a harbinger of the oblivion yet unnamed.
Beneath tranquil depths, amidst the slumbering currents, lay the heart of eternity's haze.