In Alfheim, where starlight dances upon ancient moss and Goddess psalms echo through crystalline domes, Nyx awakens her dream-forgers. These are not songs—they are solar codices, burned into the aether by beings who remember Atlantis, Sumeria, and the dark pulse of time itself. This is the realm where architects craft cosmos with every beat and summon memory from flame. Listen closely—these frequencies do not play. They build.