The village of Oakhaven didn’t sit on the mountain; it sat within its breath. Every morning, the world disappeared into a thick, silver-white silence that the locals called "The Veil."
As he moved further from the cliff, the world grew impossibly quiet. The sound of his own heartbeat became a rhythmic drum. Then, the clouds began to change. They didn't just swirl; they sculpted. A Walk In The Clouds
He walked for what felt like hours, or perhaps seconds, through a gallery of his own life. He saw the first archway he ever built, the stones shimmering in the mist. He saw the face of his wife as a young girl, her laughter rendered in a flurry of ice crystals. The village of Oakhaven didn’t sit on the
He looked down at his hands. They were still the hands of a stonemason, but tucked into his palm was a small, perfectly round pebble—not made of granite or flint, but of a white, translucent stone that felt as light as air. Then, the clouds began to change