Smoke curls through an empty hall where the light shivers and trembles, each fleeting spark a memory of what once was. Shadows stretch across worn stones as warmth dies and the world cools around a fading pulse, and with each passing moment, the final fragments of what was known slip quietly into oblivion. Dawn stretches thin and fragile, a last breath of light brushing the horizon before surrendering to night, while distant stars blink one final farewell across a sky that remembers her name even as she fades from it. A solemn congregation of echoes gathers, chanting in tongues that curl and twist like smoke itself, calling forth what sleeps beneath layers of ash and longing. From this crucible of sound and silence, a presence emerges, woven of sorrow and flame, rising through a crescendo that trembles between despair and awe. In the stillness that follows, whispered words ripple like a prayer through the hollowed air, carrying the weight of endings and the fragile promise of what might bloom again from the embers.