In the loam of ocean dreams, at the bottommost trench, components of a vessel lie scattered — like the relics of a forgotten kingdom. The algae cradle the sunken hull, which creaks softly under millennia of silence.
Voices, muted and hollow, echo through the void. They speak of mariners lost in storm and mythic dreams, flares in hand, searching for solace. Their eyes know shards of the celestial ocean, seeing what we cannot.
A ship, once swathed by daring sailors, now harbors a different kind of cargo. Decrypting past whispers yet unspoken, we tremble before its ghostly timbers. Wandering spirits dance upon the remains, with shadows only iron will can tame. Their laughter, a ripple in eternal ink...