A quiet hum drifted across the glassy plain, as if the horizon itself were thinking. Pale ribbons of light slipped between low clouds and painted slow-moving shadows over fields of silver grass. Each blade bent with deliberate grace, whispering secrets to the breeze that wandered without a destination. Somewhere beneath the surface, unseen currents rearranged the earth grain by grain, composing landscapes that would exist only for a moment before becoming memory.Travelers who crossed this place often spoke of a peculiar sensation: the feeling that time had softened around them. Footsteps made no echo. Thoughts arrived fully formed, like letters delivered without postage. Even fatigue seemed reluctant to linger, dissolving into a calm alertness that felt neither like rest nor wakefulness. Many tried to measure the distance they walked, but their instruments disagreed, and their own recollections blurred at the edges.In the center of the plain stood a structure of unknown origin, formed from interlocking arcs that never quite touched. From afar it resembled a sculpture suspended in midair, though a closer look revealed faint seams glowing with patient energy. No entrance was visible, yet the interior shimmered with a shifting lattice of color, as if countless stories were being projected simultaneously, overlapping and blending.Those who approached found themselves pausing without conscious decision. Curiosity mixed with a gentle caution, the way one might hesitate before opening a long-sealed book. The air nearby carried a subtle warmth, scented with something like rain on warm stone. Sometimes the arcs vibrated softly, producing tones too low to be called music but too harmonious to be random.Creatures of delicate form occasionally emerged from the tall grass, observing with bright, reflective eyes. They moved in spirals rather than straight lines, tracing patterns that lingered faintly in the air behind them. When they vanished, the space they occupied seemed slightly brighter, as though illuminated by a memory of their presence.At dusk, the sky transformed into a vast gradient of violet and amber. The structure responded, its inner lattice intensifying until threads of light stretched outward like roots searching for fertile ground. For a brief interval, everything aligned: the whispering grass, the slow currents below, the wandering breeze, and the silent observers. It felt like standing within a question that did not demand an answer.When night arrived, the plain darkened but never became fully shadowed. Points of luminescence surfaced across the terrain, drifting lazily upward before dissolving. Travelers often camped nearby, drawn by a sense of quiet companionship. Dreams in this place were unusually vivid, filled with landscapes that folded into themselves like intricate maps.By morning, many departed with a calm certainty they could not explain. They carried no physical tokens, yet something subtle had shifted within them. The path behind closed without trace, and the plain resumed its endless, patient transformation, waiting for the next set of footsteps to wander into its thoughtful silence.
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