for a land that doesn’t exist
Dreams are beautiful things.
So are the stars.
So imagine, then, dreaming of the stars. They are not our stars - not the constellations we have known for millennia - but they are still somehow so very familiar. Do you need to know something to be in awe of it?
There is a voice in your ear, whispering names and legends, and you let yourself lean into the sound of that unseen narrator. A small folk tale is all it takes to enrapture you.
This is not your home. You know this. But it is your home.
Have you ever seen these kinds of trees before? They are so tall, so proud. Leafy boughs and scented pine and twisting ivy and it is all so green even in the moonlight. The lake in the distance is crystalline, filled with stars and moons upon moons of silver light, and it laps against the shores with immeasurable patience.
It is all so beautiful in the moonlight.
There is a breeze among the forest trees, and out of the corner of your eye you swear you can see a woman made of leaves and bark move. She winks at you, laughing, but when you turn your head for a closer look --
She is gone. It must have been your imagination.
You will wake up the next morning with words in a foreign language spilling from your lips. In the moment before you fully resurface from your dreams you will say "Ikara."
In that moment, you will feel more alive than you have ever felt before.