THE WHISPERING NEBULA
A Daydream Before Arrival
The Zenith hums beneath you. Sabine’s calibration whispers fade into the background like cicadas at the edge of awareness. You’ve been staring at the same star for fifteen minutes. Or fifteen seconds. The clock keeps stuttering.
The Traveler blinks.
Geometric patterns flood his vision — teal fractals bleeding into gold, spiraling inward like a drain made of light. He doesn’t know if he’s waking up or falling in.
A spotlight. From above. He’s in a chair.
No — a wheelchair. His leg is raised. He feels pressure on his nerve endings, watches his own toes move from somewhere outside himself. Third person. Witnessing his own body.
He’s aware this is a dream. But he can’t find the door.
The gold light swells. The wheelchair dissolves. The room follows. He feels himself standing — or being stood — as the vision folds into something else entirely.
The planet below is green, blue, orange. The colors feel like a question.
// HOW DO YOU MEET THE VISION?