Sorry about the old version! I did it on a mac, and I don't know how to use it that well, so it ended up without paragraphing (somehow). I've added the paragraphing. Hope you like it now.
A spire of grey piercing through the grey sky, a tower in the midst of a vast grey sea, its point lost in the clouds.
Waves roaring, churning, slamming their shiny sides on the island's shores, spitting up briny foam flecks into the air.
Beyond that, mist. An aureole of glitter-specked mist which pours from high in its upper levels, like a veil of smoke which eternally conceals the ancient granite walls.
Inside, darkness reigns. It creeps through the bottom levels, over the ground cracked with age, twining its endless fingers around each stone and protrusion, cloaking all in shadow. Here, creatures lurk, creatures who have not seen the light of the sun since their births. Here, all is danger to them, and they will be merciless to any who pass through.
And through the whole tower, a song flows, like an endless river, trickling, seeping into its very stones. It is a song as old as the tower itself, sent forth by the powerful voices of the sky-shaded dragon birds. A song of rising hope, of serene calm like the reflections on a glade of silver, unshakable, ever rippling.
Above, the mist thickens. It blankets the icy ruins of stones, rushing forever to the edge of the tower. It mingles with the clouds, until neither is discernible. Dormant, within, is the great secret, the one who has not smelt the salty tang of the ocean breezes, or seen the scarlet of blood or viridian of leaves for years beyond counting.
I have braved all the dark terrors and ascended to the highest floor. I am afraid. I am engulfed; I cannot see through this curtain of fog.
Then, shakily, I reach out to touch a stony object.
And the thing, the secret, is awake, breathing through its ancient lungs.
Below me, the ever continuous song rings, lifting hope to me. Bravely, I call my trusted companions out.
The battle begins.