_The air here hums with a silent pull,_

_Not magic, but something far more cruel._

_A pact unspoken, a vow undone,_

_Where the earth eats secrets one by one._

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_The rivers don’t flow, they claw their way,_

_Through soil that sings of a darker day._

_And the trees are not guardians, but sentries who see,_

_The sins of the living, the price of the free._

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_Tene’s heart beats beneath restless stone,_

_Its pulse is not gentle, but sharp and alone._

_It calls to the broken, the lost, the stray,_

_Promising power, but none who stay._

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_The moon doesn’t rise—it lingers instead,_

_Casting shadows that twist like the words of the dead._

_And the stars are not kind, they’re jagged and cold,_

_A reminder that beauty can never be whole._

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_For enchantment here is not soft or serene,_

_It’s a raw, cutting force, alive and unseen._

_And mystery is not a game or a key,_

_It’s a chasm that yawns beneath every tree._

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_Tene does not welcome; it warns, it demands,_

_It shapes your fate with unyielding hands._

_And those who enter with hope in their stride,_

_Leave with shadows that burn from inside._

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