Beneath the whirling veil of cosmic dusk,
soft whispers weave through lunar fog,
silent messages inscribed in stardust ink —
the runes awaken ancient songs.
When the silver needle points south,
the circle opens, revealing passages
of forgotten tales,
etched onto the bark of time.
Stray not from the path,
where shadows pulse with unfelt warmth,
listen —
for the echoes of the unseen muse.
Gather the fragments,
hold them close —
in the hearth flicker waltz
of spectral flame.
Consider the sigil,
a bridge between breaths:
exhale the mystery,
inhale the void.
To wander is to wander,
the runes say,
to read is to remember
the dreams before dawn.
Follow the signs,
trace the lines over fields of void
until the end —
a new beginning sways.
Seek more wisdom in Fabled Structures or Whispered Legends.