Deep inside the caverns, where light refracts like lost hesitation
and whispers have their own gravity, we find Rabius.
Steeped in shadows, draped in the fabric of soft echoes,
he emerges from the folds of half-thought and unspun furor.
Is he a spectral wanderer, or a flicker of the mind's quiet coefficient?
Rabius knows the rhythm of silence, the poetry of dripping stones.
Here, he dances between what is known and what lingers in the gaps,
echoing truths too potent for the waking world to own.
Venture deeper, oh seeker, where warmth forgets its function
and the ambiance hums a tune only discerned by those who listen.
There lies Rabius, guardian of the underglow,
his laughter a symphony of crystalline drops.
Will you join his weave, or cast your own into the stream of whispers?