Encased in the pondering shroud of the moonlit sea, gales sang lilting lullabies, weaving curtain threads between night and fantasy.
Here the tides do not speak of mere time nor measure era by passive wave, but carve destinies in salt and foam.
A voice drifts, echoing from somewhere wrapped in eternal dusk, born not of flesh but of dreams:
"Walk through the tide of thought. To slip is to dance among the whispers."
The waves reveal verdant shores of recollection, upon which your footsteps become constellations in an uncharted cosmos.
But who, among the echoing currents, dares to whisper tales to the stars? The Eternal Whale may know.
Vibrant echoes linger, shimmering in translucent tendrils, binding each thought with ethereal silk. Do you hear the quiet crescendo? Voices in the Depths resonate with an ancient murmur.