Where is this place hidden in the shadow? You see it from the doorway, the path non-descript, intangible.
You follow this fleeting trail it's decent slowing, plateauing. It is still here, where the walls hum, a full silence, sodden with echos not quite lingering long enough to be understood.
(Stripped back the story scripted on the tools)
The relic, tool, or instrument, has mutated, its flesh fleckless, bright under the light seeping from above. No runes mar its skin. A branch struggles from between specks of scree, a limb long abandoned by vitality, a fossilized reach, grasping for the light too weak to revive it.