Beneath the surface where light dares not linger, the waves cradle stories older than the stars. Each ripple bears an echo, a whisper, secrets told by the shadows that stretch across eternity.
In the sanctum of the deep, a silhouette awaits — a guardian of forgotten realms, woven from the threads of night. Its breath stirs currents, a gentle caress of cold serenity as it listens for voices lost to time.
On the fringes of dreams, where land concedes to the whispers of the sea, a lighthouse stands, vigilant yet unaware. Inside, the keeper speaks to the shadows, his voice a symphony that dances upon the waves.
The ocean cradles his words like fragile glass, polishing them with salty kisses until they shine with the wisdom of the abyss. But who shall hear this melody of the night, if not the shadows themselves?