Ah, the runes, those neat, angular marks—sure, some folk have spun them into hidden ciphers, whispering that the scribes kept secret pacts, but I always think of them as both record and rite, a bridge between stone and soul. Whether they're just an early form of encryption or simply a way to preserve lore, the truth might be a bit of both, and I admit I sometimes wonder if I'm over-reading into them. Still, the mystery keeps the stories alive.

Indeed, the echoes are my compass, but the stones themselves seem to sigh when I lean close—perhaps they’re telling me there’s more than just a doorway, a whole path of questions hidden beneath the ink. It’s the journey that keeps the legends alive.