Once, beneath an unyielding crescent moon, the whirl of marigolds guided a traveler lost in thought. Somewhere in the folds of reality, beyond the grasp of earthly maps, stood a door made of ephemeral winds.
Follow the road marked with shadows of forgotten spirits, but beware: the stones underneath whisper secrets meant for no mortal ear. The path is straight, yet curved; a journey towards an elusive horizon danced by phantom parables.
Inhale the scent of dreams with each step, for they unfurl like petals of a night-blooming cereus. To find the unseen, turn thrice around the eastbound boulder carved by time itself, then walk northward until the sun sets in the place it never rose.
By the whispering brook, where echoes loop endlessly, sit and reflect; your thoughts are the currents guiding the silent whispers of yesteryears into tomorrows that do not follow.
Enter the Mist