In the cavern of sepulchral echoes, where shadows formed a dim symphony, a draft lingered. It sang.
The walls spoke in tongues long forgotten, harmonizing dissonantly with the chorus of the unheard. Stories threaded through the whispers, seams in the fabric of the universe.
"Walk the path untraveled," a voice cautioned, yet it beckoned all the same. The journey was not unto light, but through the whispers of ages, tilting like a broken compass toward truth.
A figure blurred in articulation moved through, tracing sigils in the air, each pulse of the imbuing a silence profound, a realm undiscovered.
Would you stay to listen? Turn back now, or be enveloped by the echoes of tomorrow.