The Shroud Crypt
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
The Shroud Crypt stretches like a cathedral carved from silence itself. High above, hundreds of golden stasis-lanterns hang suspended, each one a tomb of light housing a dreaming soul. Their glow casts long, ritual shadows across walls inscribed with vertical columns of machine-script—endless prayer-code etched into sacred stone.
Hooded figures stand in total stillness, as if awaiting something long forgotten. Their robes absorb the glow, untouched by time. The floor beneath is cracked in perfect concentric rings—like a broken ritual seal—suggesting this chamber was meant to contain more than memory.
At the heart stands a lone silhouette, draped in black. Whether a mourner, a pilgrim, or something older is unclear. Behind them, the corridor opens toward a radiant, unreachable gate, its light seeming to call the names no one remembers.
This is not a crypt.
It is a liturgical engine built to preserve what no longer wishes to be known.
The Shroud Crypt
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
The Shroud Crypt stretches like a cathedral carved from silence itself. High above, hundreds of golden stasis-lanterns hang suspended, each one a tomb of light housing a dreaming soul. Their glow casts long, ritual shadows across walls inscribed with vertical columns of machine-script—endless prayer-code etched into sacred stone.
Hooded figures stand in total stillness, as if awaiting something long forgotten. Their robes absorb the glow, untouched by time. The floor beneath is cracked in perfect concentric rings—like a broken ritual seal—suggesting this chamber was meant to contain more than memory.
At the heart stands a lone silhouette, draped in black. Whether a mourner, a pilgrim, or something older is unclear. Behind them, the corridor opens toward a radiant, unreachable gate, its light seeming to call the names no one remembers.
This is not a crypt.
It is a liturgical engine built to preserve what no longer wishes to be known.