In the silence, the winds carry tales untold, secrets buried in the dust of forgotten realms. As the night unfurls its velvet shroud, the whispers grow louder, weaving their dark tapestry in the air around us.
Once, a village thrived where shadows danced beneath the pale moonlight. The streets now lie deserted, consumed by the creeping grasp of time. Yet, in the silence, one can hear the echoes of laughter—faint, spectral, and forever out of reach.
There was a time when we believed the winds spoke to us, helping guide our every step. Now, they merely carry the ghostly remnants of those long past, their voices a haunting lullaby beneath the decaying sky.
In the lies of the ancients, buried deep beneath the soil, lies a truth too terrible to awaken. It thrums in the bones of the earth, a silent tremor that whispers of forgotten gods and silent devotions.
Seek, if you dare, the sepulchral echoes of their prayers—embedded in the wind’s mournful cry, waiting to be uncovered by those brave enough to listen.