Beneath unmoving waters, whispers intertwine between the cracks of light, folding shadows in the patience of time. Dreams burn slowly against the spinning bells, gliding toward horizons sweetened by distant meridians. Petals fall like data from forgotten skies, carrying names that dissolve in the static of memory, until the final echo fades in the tape's last breath.

Windchime Loop

Geometry fades as the city loses its shape, corners crumble into distant echoes, and lights flicker without purpose. Forgotten signs float in the air like unanswered questions, while rooms sigh with a longing unheard. Shadows freeze across rooftops, and fog hides the remnants of things once familiar. In this slow unraveling, time stutters, hearts echo in hollow chambers, and everything stops for a silent flicker before disappearing entirely.

Unnamed Farewell

Words float across an empty horizon, neither sending nor responding, like echoes written in the air. The glow fades from every surface as paths stretch endlessly across a silent landscape with no one to witness them. Messages fade into static, leaving only the faint pulse of a forgotten hymn beneath flickering lights. Somewhere between departure and disappearance, something still waits, silent, infinite, as if the void might one day respond.

Smoke on Empty Roads

A hidden path opens between cracked walls and rising steam, where dim lights flicker like ghosts in a forgotten alleyway. Messages flicker briefly and fade, leaving ash and silence in iconic places that no longer hold meaning. Abandoned rhythms sway in empty spaces, as dawn arrives without warmth, only pale echoes of what once was. Through a passage no one remembers building, absence becomes the only memory left to guide the way.

Instead of Light

A hollow sigh filters through the deserted corridors, where the city no longer remembers its own name. The light silently fades over the vanished structures, dissolving into a space without sound or form. Goodbyes replay in the mind, blurred and distant, until even their meaning begins to erode. What remains is a final stillness—not absence, not presence—only the echo of something that was once there and is now nothing at all.

Quirren

Between abandoned lights and words never spoken, the landscape fractures into strange names and distant echoes. The city dissolves into a realm of forgotten architecture, where neon wails fade into rusty prayers. Every step leads deeper into unexplored corridors, and every whispered name feels like the shadow of a place that never truly existed.

Windchime Loop

AROK