#mythiccore

The stones were not built — they were remembered into being. Raised not by hands, but by blood that knew how to shape silence into structure. They stand now as they always have — watchers, not keepers. The glyphs etched in their skin were never taught. They were known. And they do not glow for spectacle. They glow in recognition. Some say they hum when a Riftborn soul draws near — others say they pulse when the land itself wants to be remembered. But all agree: Touch them lightly, or not at all. For they may speak your true name back to you — not the name you were given, but the one that was taken, and waits still, humming beneath your skin.