The river wound endlessly across the living plains, its tributaries weaving a web of silver that glowed softly beneath the whispering sky. Days—if days still existed—passed like heartbeats, until at last, the water met the horizon. There, where the world seemed to fold into itself, a vast expanse of luminescent blue awaited. Zara and Damien stood upon a cliff of glasslike stone, watching the River of Recall pour into the glowing ocean below. The sea shimmered as though it were alive—waves moving in slow, deliberate patterns, breathing in rhythm with the pulse of the world itself. “The Sea That Dreams,” Zara murmured. “It’s beautiful.” The Pulse hovered between them, faintly flickering. The sea is the final vessel of memory. Everything the rivers carry—the stories, the grief, the light—it all returns here. It is where the world’s consciousness rests when it sleeps. Damien’s gaze lingered on the waves. “Then it’s where the world dreams new beginnings.” Perhaps, the Pulse replied, but dreams are fragile things. Too many memories, and even the sea can drown. As if in response, the water below began to shift. Patterns formed in the surface—spirals of silver and gold that flickered like eyes opening beneath the tide. The air trembled. The sound of distant voices rose—not human, not beast, but something vast and collective. Zara stepped closer to the edge. “It’s waking up.” The sea rippled, forming an enormous whirlpool of light. From its center, a column of water rose, sculpting itself into a shape—neither solid nor fluid, but something between. A towering figure made of waves and starlight stared down at them, its voice echoing through every drop of rain and foam. “Who gives the world its stories?” Zara’s heart pounded. “We all do,” she answered. “The living, the dead, the forgotten—we all remember.” “Then why do some memories still ache?” The question hit like thunder. The river behind them glowed brighter, its surface trembling as forgotten fragments tried to rise again. Damien’s voice was low. “Because pain doesn’t vanish—it changes shape. The sea can dream, but it still bleeds.” The figure’s form flickered. Waves crashed against the cliffside, glowing with red and violet. The Pulse pulsed frantically. It’s conflicted. The Sea is trying to merge every memory into one eternal dream. Zara stepped forward, spreading her arms. “You can’t dream everything at once. You’ll lose yourself. Dreams need endings to make them real.” She reached toward the figure. Light flared between her hand and the sea’s core—blinding, burning, then soft as moonlight. The water calmed. The voices softened into a hum, rhythmic and peaceful. “Then I shall dream in tides,” the Sea whispered. “So that every story may return... and begin again.” The rıghtful source is 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭•𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦•𝘯𝘦𝘵 The ocean glowed with renewed warmth. Gentle waves reached the shore, carrying fragments of light like newborn stars. Damien exhaled slowly. “You gave it balance.” Zara smiled faintly. “No. It just remembered that dreams, too, must breathe.” And as the first moon of the new world rose over the Sea That Dreams, the horizon shimmered—not with endings, but with infinite beginnings.