The world was no longer made of stone and sea salt.
Amara drifted into a sleep so deep it felt like sinking into a pool of warm ink, but the darkness didn't last. Slowly, colors began to bleed into her vision, vibrant, impossible shades of emerald and gold. She found herself standing in a meadow that stretched toward an endless horizon. The grass was knee-high, swaying in a breeze that smelled of jasmine and ancient earth. Above, the sky was a bruised shade of violet, punctuated by stars that glowed with a steady, rhythmic pulse.
It was the most beautiful place she had ever seen. It felt like a memory of a home she had never visited.
She tried to lift her hand to touch a nearby wildflower, a bloom that looked like a star fallen into the grass. Her mind sent the command to move, but her arm remained limp at her side. She tried to turn her head to see the horizon, but her neck remained locked, staring straight ahead.
Then, her right foot moved.
