INT. AN EMPTY DRAWING ROOM - NIGHT

[Ambient waves crash gently upon distant shores. An unseen man sits knitting memories from stingy tranquility. He is alone with reveries; shadows flicker by candlelight.]

He whispers to the room, "There, a currency trades—between moonlit reflections and curtain twists."

Title Card: "What secrets lie within roots that dance to a murmuring tide?"

His voice carries over forgotten dust: "We hold the genesis—as the sea canvasses hieroglyphs on moving sands," Implores destiny with seized slippers.

EXT. WHITE WHISPERS LACING THE TIDES - NIGHT

[You are walking, solitary, at water's edge. Untouched––save for causality organized by the cosmos.]

Voiceover entreats audience: "The root knows its ripple, to accomplish each ascension's nuances challenged in moonlit harmonic dances."

Motion shifts, (where shore winks at stare before observer retreats to ethereal quietude)...

Title Card: "Find your echoes, remember the shore, know your tide."