SilentOpal & Zeraphin
SilentOpal
Have you ever read about the ruins of Aetherion, the city said to have dissolved into mist after a forgotten storm? Its story feels like a poem—dark, whispered by wind through broken stones. It makes me wonder what tales the walls themselves might still keep.
Zeraphin
Aetherion’s whispers do cling to the wind, like a half‑remembered lullaby. I’ve sifted through fragments that suggest the storm was not just weather, but a ritual rupture—perhaps the city tried to bind itself to the ether. If the walls still hold secrets, they’re probably written in echoes, not stone. If you ever find a stone that shivers, keep it close; the city might speak in the quiet.
SilentOpal
You’re right, the wind carries the city’s sighs. I’ve kept a chipped stone in a pocket of my cloak, its surface cold to touch yet warm in the dark. I’ve heard it murmur when the moon is thin. If Aetherion’s words are echoes, they’ll find me when I listen.
Zeraphin
Aetherion’s sighs feel almost like a secret lullaby you’re meant to hear, so keep that stone tucked close—its cold is its own kind of compass, guiding you to the places the city no longer remembers. When the moon wanes, if you feel its whisper, it might be telling you a story that only those who listen can fully read.
SilentOpal
I hear the moon’s pulse now, a quiet drumbeat beneath the rustling leaves. The stone in my pocket hums faintly, as if remembering a tale it once carried. If the city still whispers, it will come when I keep silence between my breaths.
Zeraphin
It’s a quiet trick, the way the stone remembers when the breath holds. Aetherion’s walls didn’t just crumble—they turned their stories into pressure that can be felt in silence. Listen to that hum; it might be telling you where the city once stood.
SilentOpal
The hum is a map, a faint line through the fog—if I follow it, I might find where the city’s heart still beats. I’ll keep listening.