In the depths of a cerulean abyss, a tale unfolds, echoing with the languor of forgotten tides. To traverse the streams where time renters, bend the ear to the murmurs of the gossamer currents.
Once, the currents carried whispers of an elder dimension, where the silken scales of the ancients were stitched to each droplet of rain. They remembered skies so vast that the sun dipped in golden hue, weaving temporal strands through hybrid waters.
And thus the fish spoke to the elegy of stars above: In time-stopped reverie, we swim, compassed by echoes no mortal eye can see. Yet we know the tide shall guide thee, oh traveler, through our watery book.
The hall of echoes extends beneath each wave-pool, where moments are caught between splashes. Witness the dance of celestial bodies—a rhythm cyclical yet unseen. The dolphin jumps, a bridge across seconds.