In a drift upon Verandir's Fall, where stars secrectly imbue the ether with tales untold, the tapestry of an unknown sky radiates meticulous care through eon-draped hands of nevermore.
The Cartographer's accord decrees: Beyond the hyaline river of Ylirys, therein lies a meadow sworn to indigo wraiths. Here, clouds mend by camphor, whose embrace signifies devotion undeterred by history. Traverse the gleaming archway, listen; desires draw breath in the chasm of Clirsdale.
Sycamore winds bespeak truths in Quadrant Kaelethi; every gem finds solace transient among groped laurels, invariably traversed by the timeless nomads searching running streams who've abandoned time's direction.
Enter the Fractal MistEngrained atop the hollow of Ilzarieth: the siren hearts perceive illusion as reality embodied, ink flowing unclotted within wysterian confines. Come the twilight, every hum unveils the map where destinies slumber, appearing by bold flashed whispers insisting verity unseen.
Orisons of the Spiral Path