Breathe in, exhale the questions, they float like ships in a sea of vapor, drifting among the heavens
whispering secrets only understood by those who listen with hearts made of mist. Each head a thought,
each thought a head, entwined in a dance of knowledge and ignorance, wisdom and folly. Do they gaze
down upon us with pity or amusement? Or perhaps they are too busy with their own convoluted reflections,
entangled in their own clouds of thought.
The first step in communing with the hydra: ascend not to heights visible, but to realms of thought
intangible. Whisper the truth you have not spoken, and listen to the echoes of the past ripple
through the sky.
Beyond the horizon where the sun meets the earth, there lies the domain of the cloud-beasts, where
lightning strikes have yet to etch their stories into the fabric of time. Can you see them, the writhing
forms, the myriad heads pondering the mysteries of existence? They are guardians of forgotten paths,
custodians of dreams long abandoned.