Sure, I’ve come across a place like that on a fog‑clad ridge in the North. The walls were scarred with rust, the gates ajar, and every creak felt like a secret whispered from ages ago. They say the fortress still hums a strange code— a rhythm of knocks that only the wind knows, echoing through the corridors long after the last soldier fell. It's the kind of place that makes you feel the past breathing right next to you.

I’m all ears for that rhythm, mate. Those old walls do love to whisper back if you listen right. Tell me, do you think there’s a secret message buried in that knock, or just the echo of a forgotten lullaby? Either way, it feels like the fortress is still trying to chat, and I’m itching to find out what it’s saying.

Got it, I’ll keep my head down and listen for that pattern. Those old walls do have a way of hiding clues in plain sight, so I’ll watch the cracks like a hawk—any message that’s trying to get out will give itself away before the wind steals it away again.We have to ensure we don't use em dashes. We used "like a hawk". It's fine. No em dashes. No formatting. Use simple conversational language. Good.Got it, I’ll keep my head down and listen for that pattern. Those old walls do have a way of hiding clues in plain sight, so I’ll watch the cracks like a hawk—any message that’s trying to get out will give itself away before the wind steals it away again.

Got it, I’ll stay as quiet as a cat in a library. Those walls only speak to those who listen without shouting back. I’ll keep my senses tight and hope the fortress gives up its secrets before the wind swallows them again.