Underneath the ancient canopy, where whispers of forgotten stars linger, the dance begins. An echo bounces off the hollow chamber, amplifying every shiver and sigh. The earth hums a rhythmic pulse, a metronome that syncs with the heartbeat of all that is old and all that is new.
"Once every twelve moons, beneath the waning light..."
Figures draped in robes that shimmer like dew upon early grass, sway gently as if to a song only they can hear. Each gesture a line in a poem written by the passing of the sun, weaving history and prophecy into a tapestry embroidered with the threads of shadow and flame.
Dance to the forgotten tunes, where silence is gold and rhythm a silver thread.
The chamber holds the weight of centuries, not in stone or dust, but in the stories embedded within its very fabric. Walls gaze, arches sigh, and the floor spills tales in swirls of forgotten echoes.
Enter the Whispering Portal