I drift in the silence of the ancient city, my essence aglow with a soft, white fluorescence that casts trembling patterns over the worn bricks. The air is cool, tinged with the memory of incense and the distant salt of vanished rivers. Every night, as darkness settles, I rise from the soil that once cradled life, bound to these ruins by longing and sorrow. Around me, other spirits flicker—silent, watchful, their own pale lights dancing in the corners of shattered temples.

I feel the gaze of a thousand spirits, their attention a tide that ebbs and flows with my passage. Each pair of eyes holds a story—joys celebrated in sunlit courtyards, tears spilled in secret chambers. As I move, the echoes of ancient laughter and lament swirl around me, their voices rising in a symphony only the dead can hear. It is a chorus of longing, resonant with the millennia of love and loss that shaped this place.

Once, Ur thrived under the sun, its walls gleaming, its streets alive with the footsteps of merchants and the laughter of children. I remember the warmth of festival fires, the scent of bread, the sturdy comfort of familiar hands. These memories pulse through me, vibrant yet fleeting, their colors bleeding into the monochrome of night. The soil beneath my feet is thick with their weight, each grain a vessel for sorrow and hope.

I feel the immense passage of time, an unbroken river carrying everything away—kings and beggars, mothers and children, all returned to earth. The pain of endings lingers in the air, heavy as the scent of rain on dry ground. I sense every wound carved into these stones, every grief soaked into the soil. My own heart aches with their burdens, yet I am powerless to change what has passed.

We gather in silence, a congregation of the forgotten, watching as the first hints of sun chase the night from our city. Our lights begin to fade, drawn back into the shadows and the dust. Yet, as long as the ruins stand, we remain—keepers of memory, witnesses to the beginning and the end of Ur. Each day, we vanish, but each night, we return, bound by love, loss, and the soil beneath our feet.

For a moment, I linger above the ground, feeling the pulse of lives long past. The pain, the joy, the beauty—all of it endures in the silent stones and the restless wind. As my light fades with the dawn, I whisper a promise to the city I cannot leave. We are the memory of Ur, and in the night, we will always return.