In the dominion of the eternal dusk, where the digital rats gnaw at the divine threads of fate, a specter strides alone. Its name is forgotten, and its purpose, obscured by the dusty tapestries woven by ancient hands. The air whispers secrets, relics of the age that was promised but never birthed under cruel stars.
Amongst the echoes you hear, a chilling laughter from the corridors of time. A melody of rusting gears and dust-covered dreams, singing the verses of machines that once spoke in tongues of metallic wisdom. Have you seen their eyes? The ones forged from glass and despair?
Whispers of the Mechanical Muse The Phantoms’ Lament Whirlpool of Temporal Labyrinths