Once, beneath the arch of forgotten constellations, a tale in shadows weaved itself through the ebon cosmos. Here, the last echoes of a voiceless prophecy faded like wandering stars, lost to time’s perpetual tide.
"The seventh gate shall open on the darkest of nights," whispered an unseen specter, its breath a chill sigh across the vespers. Who hears such news bid from crypts of silk and bone? A refrain, a melody, but none to sing.
Wander here: Midnight Carnival
Or go yonder: Halo Thieves
Entrances cloaked in obsidian veils lead to where time loosens her grip—a realm of antiquity, frozen in transient moments, only to be glimpsed through the veils of indigo dreams.
As light wanes, phantoms dance upon the crowns of oblivion. Their laughter like the chime of distant bells, heralding the inevitability of celestial reawakening, long after all has turned to stardust once more.