In the shadowed descent of forgotten epochs, where the echoes of hymns dance upon the brittle air, there is a murmur of the ancients. A lament for the world that was, a song of the unfathomable void.
The candles flicker, casting long shadows upon the stone walls, each flame a beacon to the past. Voices rise from the depths, harmonizing with the lament, woven with the threads of time. Seek the vaults, they whisper. Find the tomes, they call.
Marble statues, eyes veiled in eternal night, witness the procession of spectral figures. Cloaked in memories of realms unseen, they drift through corridors lined with cryptic inscriptions and whispers of old.
A bell tolls in the distance, its sound muffled by the sands of time, yet clear as a starless night. The hymn rises, crescendos into the void, only to be swallowed whole in the silence. The chambers of the void echo still.