They came in search of echoes, footfalls on foreign sands. The moment humanity set foot on the rim of Vesperis, it was not the stars' silence that spoke, but the whispers carving letters into the void.
Elysia was one of the few who dared tread where others had paused, captivated by the phantasmal landscapes reflected in the cerulean breeze. Each step coerced the ground into new formations, words that only she could whisper to the wind. Sculpted, a name unwritten yet eternal.
Footsteps formed a path, imprinting in the unyielding dock of starlight under restless waves. It was said the ocean had a voice, but it too was forgotten in the daze of exploration – a myth amidst the hum of celestial strings.
As she walked, it wasn't the soil that cradled her words but an intangible shore – an ethereal expanse too vast to confine. The stories blocked the pathway ahead, resuming their stories in languages of forgotten realms.
Only through silence could she hear whispers that made sense of these alien shores. Each word danced like half-remembered dreams, tracing arcs against ghostly silhouettes.