Under the shadowed canopy of twilight, the gentle stirrings began. Voices, barely more than a hum, wrapped around the edges of perception. Adam found himself adrift in this quagmire of whispers, caring not their origin nor their intent.
"Where are we?" The question escaped him like a forgotten word grazed by a sudden tongue.
Listen. The waves recite ancient poems unseen.
It was a phrase poetically meaningless yet compelling him to follow its cadence paving paths through unknown territories filled with ethereal light. The ground shifted, a mosaic of dreams and shadow, beneath his feet in a ceaseless waltz.
More questions resonated, lost in rhythm: "Is this where dreams go when we wake?" A murmuring chorus sang back, neither affirming nor denying its veracity.
The clock's surrender is the dawn's gentle lie.
As Adam stepped further into these hidden moors, he stumbled upon curiosities: relics of a forgotten reality strewn across the landscape like breadcrumbs leading to an unseen axiom.
A product of this strange place finally revealed itself, carved into sagging trees: Secrets.. Myths.. Revenants...
Each syllable felt like a step towards... completion? Perhaps, merely an acknowledgment of the infinite journey ahead.
Gaze upon the horizon where sight shatters into knowing.