[Sound: deep forest ambience, wind through trees, faint heartbeat, distant female choir] (soft whisper… like the ground itself speaking) Before the end… there is a hand… Before the silence… there is a voice… ⸻ (slow, reverent, almost storytelling tone) In this world… nothing simply fades. All things that live… are meant to return. ⸻ (choir begins to rise, low and sacred) There is she who waits beneath all things… 🌿 Amalachia… Mother of bloom… Keeper of decay… The one who gathers what was loved… and returns it to the soil. ⸻ (pause… softer, colder) And there is he who walks before her… 🐺 Naramu… The soft forgetting… The quiet breath before the end… The one who loosens the mind… so death may come without fear. ⸻ (tone shifts slightly darker) When the moment comes… He will find you. She will take you. And the cycle… will continue. ⸻ (low rumble, subtle tension) …unless… ⸻ (whisper… closer…) …something breaks. ⸻ (choir distorts slightly, unease building) Not all are taken. Not all are forgotten. Not all are allowed to end. ⸻ (stronger, more intense) Some… are left behind. Some… linger. Some… become… ⸻ (whispered, layered voices) Withered… ⸻ (full choir swell, Wolves presence emerging) And we… 🐺 we are the ones who remember ⸻ (final line, quiet but heavy) Listen now… to what the world… lets die. ⸻ [Sound fades into first track]
