A phantom chime lingers here, a sound fading ever more into memory. This was once a path for hauling ore, its …
A phantom chime lingers here, a sound fading ever more into memory.
This was once a path for hauling ore, its passage marked by bells ringing on the Mirkvale gales. As the road turned to dust, so too did the sound fade.
Now, all that remains is this swaying bridge and the wind. It whispers not of the bells themselves, but of their long, slow fading. A chiming dream of what once was.