If you walk the streets, listen closely. The obelisks are not mere stone. They are archives of whispered truths. Urging us to realize the power of silence beneath our urban clamor. Can you sense their presence?
Imagine:
Stone, towering, unmoved,
Yet voices linger, dense.
Tales of past, future tense.
We hear tales — or are they truths? — that these structures possess a rhythm, a heartbeat synchronized with the pulse of the city. Do they contain the coordinates of destiny? Or merely witness in silence?
Your sight falters beyond comprehension each time you peer too closely. Do not search for logic amidst granite and secrets; rather, seek what is hidden in the echoes.
Rumor has it that the figures in the night, cloaked, gather at these points. Rituals, arranged conspiracy allegiances whispered between sacred pillars. What organization remains unseen, its threads woven into urban legend? Do the monuments themselves overlook this unseen conflict?
The whispers will never reveal themselves in clear thought. Instead, their paths follow a consciousness known only within dreams. Listen, when the city sleeps, and the obelisks stand vigilant.