Once, in the forgotten realm of Nebulon Heights, the air was thick with whispers of ancient stories. The sky, a tapestry of shifting clouds, hid paths not taken and journeys unmade. It was here that the cloud dancers gathered, their steps tracing patterns in the ether, weaving the invisible threads of fate.¹ Among them was Elara, a figure cloaked in silver mist. She sought to bridge the wideness of the ether gap, to connect the lost fragments of memory scattered across the skies. "What lies beyond the clouds?" she pondered, her voice a mere echo against the vastness.² As she danced, the ground below echoed her steps, resonating with an ancient rhythm. The clouds parted, revealing a glimpse of the horizon, a place known only in dreams.

The air smelled of rain and possibility. Elara reached out, her fingers brushing against the edge of reality, where the known world ceased and the unimaginable began.³