The night enveloped them in its embrace, the soft rustle of leaves and the distant murmurs of the river lulling them into a peaceful slumber. Dreams danced at the edges of their consciousness, filled with echoes of the carvings and the whispers of the ancients.
In the quiet hours before dawn, as the world slept under a blanket of stars, Alan found himself awake, his mind alive with thoughts of the journey thus far and the path that lay ahead. He emerged from his tent, the cool night air refreshing against his skin, and made his way to the ruins, drawn by an irresistible urge to immerse himself in the mysteries they held.
As he stood amidst the ancient stones, bathed in the silvery glow of the moon, he felt a presence—a presence that seemed to transcend time and space, reaching out to him from the depths of history. It was as if the spirits of those who had walked this land before him were whispering secrets, urging him onward in his quest for understanding.
