Within the cathedral of the ocean, time bends like light through stained glass, illuminating truths hidden beneath the waves. One can ponder: is consciousness an echo of the tide, relentless and rhythmic, binding our thoughts like shells to their homes?
Pillars of Sound rise from the abyss, whispering secrets of existence, tales of molecules dancing in the ancient dark. Each ripple a sermon, each wave a prayer sung in a tongue of eternal solitude.
Beneath these waters, a cathedral expands, not of stone but of memory—each fish a monk, each current a litany of what was and what shall never be. Do we, in our quest for permanence, ignore the whispers of oblivion that caress the very soul?
Venture, if you dare, to Lasting Ring, where the echoes of forgotten dreams reveal themselves in shimmers of light and shadow. Here, whispers become tangible, a touchable reassurance of life's fleeting dances.