They say the stars in the oasis above sing a melody of forgotten dreams. It’s a tune only heard when the lunar tides start to ebb, leaving echoes on the sandy shores of the cosmos. Here, the Milky Way spills like an unwound tapestry, revealing stitches of constellations that the ancients named.
People come and go, their shadows tracing paths along the rippling reflections of the starlight. Some stop to rest, others to ponder the mysteries that drift like mist in the cool night air. Whispers of old stories curl around the gnarled branches of celestial trees — tales of wanderers who followed starlight into quests undefined yet profoundly fulfilling.
A traveler once spoke of an ethereal breeze here, carrying scents of both salt and sweetened nostalgia. It lingers on the edge of recollection, grazing the skin like a long-forgotten touch from someone you never knew existed.