At the bottom of the blue abyss where sunlight kisses the edge, where whispers of roots dance with the fantasies of bubbles, I found it—the tome, bound with whispers of forgotten leaves.
Its pages, woven from the very essence of cedar dreams, speak of stories unheard, of trees who once walked the echoing halls of an ancient earth, their feet kissing soil as gently as the ocean's caress.
The tome opens, a slow inhalation of wood and sea, breathing stories of horizons far away and the sky’s endless conversation with the ocean.
"Do you remember the forests?” asks a voice, an old echo from the depths, perhaps a dolphin's tale or a whale's song, slathered in the echoic rhythms of time.
You close your eyes, and you are there, weaving through the forest of coral trees, where merfolk dance and shimmer with tales of land they’ve only dreamed.
Descend further into the passage...
Sing with the corian songs...
Whisper to the wise whale...