Underneath the cavernous skies, the ancient stones breathe a sigh—a murmur through the cracks. The tide comes not from the sea, but from memories long buried.
Awaken not the slumbering beasts of yesteryears, whose dreams intertwine with the fabric of night, and whose eyes are the moons, pale and distant.
In the heart of the obsidian forest, a single tree stands, rooted in the soil of time itself. Its leaves whisper secrets in a forgotten tongue.
The tides pull gently, relentless, through the hourglass, as sands merge with shadows, and reality bends...
Other Whispers | Echoes of the Void