Forthwith they arrive, the silver-tongued winds, across astral paths unexplored, seekers in motion, parts unnamed, united now with query in the quest.
"To understand thy Moorish Light, tickest the Twelve Fingers, yes," sayeth the wind.
"Ye shall embark upon the spiraled intertwining of cosmic threads afterwards opening a door unto dimensions seen by Essence the Forgotten only.
Heed these ultimatums, for the paths entangled in serenity lead the essence back.
Remark a star shall fall thrice, a song shall rise eternally once, ensuring the watching of veils and the homage of creation is not trifled.