In these desolate remains, time has worn these stones. The ruins pulse with a faint, ancient energy — a whisper of the magic that once flowed through these halls. The air is thick with the weight of history, and as you stand before the crumbling arches, you feel the presence of those who came before, their spirits lingering in the stones. They tell of ambition that reached too far, of a fall that was as spectacular as the rise. But they also speak of hope — of a legacy that endures beyond ruin.