In the shivering dusk of forgotten realms, where silence carves itself into the eternal night, an echo brushed past the edge of time, murmuring truths unspoken since the dawn of shadows.
"The tree of light and shadow dreams in roots and canopies, whispering the cycles of unseen seasons," said the voice, delicate as the first bloom of spring upon winter's pall.
Beneath the whispers, the ground quakes ever so slightly, a tremor of ancient knowledge, an avalanche of stars written in dust upon the cosmic parchment.
A quill forged from moonlight inscribed upon the skies, entreating the wanderers to heed: "In the garden of the nocturnal, every leaf harbors a universe of its own, trembling with the weight of its solitude."
The wind, a messenger clad in silver, carried these secrets across the aeons, reaching for those who dare listen with hearts wide as oceans and minds light as dreams.
Venture beyond the cortex of this reality to the parallel symphony, wherein strings of existence pluck the notes of what lies beyond intention: Vistas of Dreams
Allow the silence to envelop you, until all that remains is the pulse of cosmic rhythm, urging you towards the outer edges, towards the Echoes of Forgotten Realms.