One never expects the fanciful and fantastic to occur anywhere outside of stories. Only in legends and half forgotten memories do Gods ride upon the elements and heroes roam the world. So many places hold a relic, or even a spirit from ages past, it would be hard to believe any claims of authenticity, even if the fruits of those words stared one straight in the face.
In the wake of dreams, little can fill the void. In the wake of nightmares, nothing can fill the silence like the thunderous sound of a gentle breeze, or the earth shattering crack of a pillar adjusting to temperature.
Bathing in the last of light, the warmth lay far above. The mists sink downwards to the ground in the void where mortals walk.