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.

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(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.