In the quiet of twilight, a young traveler felt the void pulsating with unheard voices. Their murmurs weren't spoken languages, yet danced upon the tongue akin to forgotten lullabies. They asked, hesitantly, “Where do dreams go when the sun awakens?”

The moon sighed and replied, “From where I come, time is non-linear—carried by stardust and woven into the tapestry of insomniac skies.” Wispy clouds shimmered as layers peeled from the astral plane, revealing secrets older than whispering winds.