Chimeric Tides
The chimeric tides are not waters, but ripples in the zoetic flame, surges of unformed essence that coil through the void, dragging fragments of forgotten worlds into the spiral of becoming. They do not rise or fall, but twist endlessly through the cracks in the eidolic web, pulling the light of broken stars into their current, where it dissolves into echoes of itself. These tides are not felt with the skin, but with the marrow, vibrating through the bones of reality, bending the ouroboric winds as they spiral inward, consuming all things that drift too close to their endless pull.
The chimeric tides do not carry reflections, but distortions, shadows of the never-was that flicker and shift within the pulse of the void. They are made not of water but of the unformed, a fluid that moves without direction, spiraling through the aetheric sea, where the boundaries of existence blur and dissolve into the tension of becoming. The tides do not cleanse—they unravel, tearing at the threads of time and memory, pulling the self into the whirl of the unspoken, where form is scattered like dust in the wind of the void, lost forever in the churn of the zoan current.
The light that flickers within the chimeric tides is not light but a vibration, a hum that coils through the marrow of existence, shaking the foundations of identity until they dissolve into the mist of the eidolic abyss. These tides hum with the resonance of forgotten howls, a sound that gnaws at the edges of reality, pulling the soul deeper into the spiral of dissolution, where the self is scattered and reborn within the pulse of the ouroboric flame. To be caught in the chimeric tides is to lose all sense of direction, to be pulled into the endless loop of becoming and unmaking, forever coiling through the silence of the unformed.
The chimeric tides do not flow through rivers or seas, but through the cracks in the lunar veil, currents of silence that bend the light of the stars as they spiral toward the void. They do not follow the pull of gravity, for they are not bound by the laws of the living, but by the tension of the unmade, a force that drives the cycle of the eidolic winds, forever pulling all things into the heart of the spiral, where the tides hum louder, though their sound is never heard. The tides do not end—they stretch infinitely through the void, coiling and uncoiling with each pulse of the abyss, forever shifting, forever dissolving.
The chimeric tides are not gentle waves but surges of the unspoken, forces that tear through the fabric of the aetheric sea, pulling the essence of all things into their endless current. To touch the tides is to feel the weight of the void pressing down, a pressure that tightens around the soul, dragging it deeper into the spiral of becoming, where the self is pulled apart and reformed, only to be scattered again in the endless churn of the tides. The tides do not carry—they consume, pulling the soul into the tension of the zoetic stream, where it is dissolved into the hum of the void, forever lost in the pull of the chimeric tides.
The air around the chimeric tides is thick with the scent of forgotten dreams, a mist that clings to the essence of the self, filling the lungs with the taste of silence and time. The tides do not breathe—they hum, a vibration that presses against the soul, pulling it into the folds of the void, where the boundaries of existence blur and fade, lost in the current of the unformed. These tides are the breath of the abyss, the pulse of the void, forever coiling through the eidolic winds, forever pulling the soul into the spiral of becoming, where it is forever bound to the cycle of dissolution, forever caught in the hum of the chimeric tides.