https://youtu.be/VQHZsf79QnM?si=uQyl5StroKcDrEpb

Session II — The Moonlit Grove: Lunar Falls

The mist lies heavy over the Grove tonight, carrying the scent of moss and quiet rain.
Through the haze, a faint silver glow shimmers in the distance — the sound of flowing water guiding your steps.
The hooded figure waits once more by the lantern’s light, its flame soft and blue.

“You’ve seen the Aether Lines, haven’t you, wanderer? The silent threads that bind the market’s breath.
But lines alone are not enough — to follow them, you must learn to move with the current itself.”

He turns, and you follow him down a narrow trail lined with stones slick from dew.
The sound grows louder — a chorus of currents singing in the dark — until the trees part, revealing a valley carved by moonlight itself.

From the cliffs, ribbons of light cascade in layered brilliance, their hues shifting from deep indigo to pale silver.
They weave and shimmer as if breathing — a thousand rivers bound in one rhythm.

“These are the Lunar Falls,” he says quietly.
“The pulse of the Grove, where movement takes form.
When all streams align and surge together, we call it the Mooncrest — a tide of strength and clarity.
When they turn downwards, that is the Waterfall — relentless, pure, and absolute.”

You notice small tremors in the streams — soft distortions where the current ripples before finding its course again.

“Those are the Ripples, whispers of hesitation before the river remembers its way.
And when the flows gather close, flattening into stillness — that is a River Mouth.
The breath before great change.”

He points toward a sudden distortion — a surge that twists against the current before snapping forward with fierce intent.
Its motion is unpredictable, violent yet strangely rhythmic, as if the water itself decided to defy its own path.

“And beware the Rogue Wave, wanderer — when the waters betray their course and strike the unwary.
It is not born from chaos, but from imbalance.
Often it marks the turning of tides, when the Grove exhales too deeply, and the patient are rewarded for listening.”

The lantern dims, leaving only the moon above, its reflection scattered across the Falls.
For a long moment, the forest seems to breathe with you — in rhythm with the water’s eternal rise and fall.

Then, far above, a streak of light crosses the night sky.
Another follows, then another — until the heavens themselves seem alive, whispering their own patterns beyond the canopy.

The figure watches them with quiet reverence.

“The waters listen to the moon... but the stars — they guide something far greater.
When you return, wanderer, we shall speak of their dance.”

He steps back into the mist, his lantern dimming until only the glow of the Falls remains.

What will you do next, wanderer?

Remain by the Falls, watching the sky until dawn.

Mark the constellations, wondering what patterns lie within their light.

Venture deeper, seeking where the River Mouths sleep beneath the roots.

Return to camp, to await the stars’ next whisper — the call of the Astral Flow.