Capital City of the Dreamlands
First Impressions of Celephaïs
The first sight of Celephaïs is like stepping into a dream half-remembered, a city whose beauty exists outside of time, where the very air hums with a strange, unbroken serenity. I arrived not by road, nor through any earthly port, but through a passage unknown to waking men; whether it was sleep, longing, or some cosmic beckoning that led me here, I cannot say. But there I stood, at the threshold of a city both ancient and new, its spires rising like prisms of pearl and amethyst, reflecting the light of a sun that does not set.
The streets of Celephaïs are paved with smooth, iridescent stones, worn not by the tread of countless feet, but as if polished by time itself, as if the city does not suffer the decay that grips mortal realms. The turquoise temple of Nath-Horthath, its domes shining with an inner radiance, towers over the central square, where columns of white and lavender marble stand in perfect symmetry, untouched by weather or war. The very air is thick with the scent of foreign blooms, whose fragrances do not belong to any earthly botany, and in the distance, the faint murmur of silver fountains sings an eternal lullaby.
The people of Celephaïs move with a grace that is both effortless and deliberate, their garments flowing as if spun from morning mist and twilight silk. There is no age here, no visible toil, no signs of suffering, only a gentle, unhurried existence, as if the city itself has trapped them in a moment of perfect contentment, or perhaps, of forgetfulness. Their eyes, however, tell a different story: a distant, dreamy detachment, as though they have gazed upon things beyond the scope of human experience, or have lived lifetimes beyond counting.
The Architecture of Dreams
Buildings of amber and ivory, adorned with balconies shaped like curling waves, line the Street of Pillars, where the wind carries the scent of saffron and exotic spices. The doors of Celephaïs do not bear locks, nor do its houses seem to belong to any one person alone, they stand as if waiting for anyone destined to return, for there are no strangers in Celephaïs, only those who have forgotten that they have been here before.
The grand stairways of onyx and moonstone wind upward toward Mount Aran, whose peak is crowned with ginkgo trees whose leaves whisper softly, though no wind dares disturb the air of Celephaïs. From there, the view is infinite, stretching beyond the city, beyond the cerulean waters of the Cerenerian Sea, where the galleys of Celephaïs glide toward Serannian, that cloud-wrapped kingdom beyond the horizon. I watched as the violet sails of a departing vessel caught an unseen current, drifting effortlessly toward a place no waking man has charted.
The markets of Celephaïs shimmer with goods not of this world: pearls that glow from within, wine that shifts color with the drinker’s mood, mirrors that show not one’s reflection, but glimpses of the past or possible futures. Musicians play instruments of glass and silver, their songs carrying no sorrow, no joy, but something else entirely; an understanding, an echo of the dreams from which this city was born.
The Timelessness of the City
Time does not flow here as it does elsewhere. There is no night, only a soft, eternal twilight, where the golden light never fades, and the sky remains in an endless state of dusk or dawn. The stars above Celephaïs do not belong to any known constellation, and they seem to shift when one is not looking. The moon, if there is one, is never seen; only its pale, silver glow upon the fountains and rooftops suggests that it watches from somewhere just beyond perception.
There are no clocks, no schedules, no urgency. Those who arrive in Celephaïs soon lose their sense of time altogether, and though the city welcomes all who come, it rarely lets them leave. The people do not discuss the past, nor do they speak of the future, they exist only in the now, their memories of how they arrived fading like footprints in a tide. If one stays too long, they may forget that there was ever a world outside the gates of Celephaïs at all.
The city does not imprison its visitors, no walls bar the way, no chains bind the feet, but those who try to leave often find themselves inexplicably returning, as if the roads fold back upon themselves, as if the very fabric of reality conspires to keep them within this dream. Some claim that the ships bound for Serannian are the only true escape, though others whisper that those who depart upon them are never seen again, not even in other realms of the Dreamlands.
The Unsettling Beauty
Yet, for all its beauty, there is something unsettling about Celephaïs, something just beneath the surface of its perfection. It is not the kind of city where one finds warmth or passion, nor does it offer the kind of happiness one longs for. It is instead a city of contentment without fulfillment, wonder without discovery, a place where the mind slowly numbs and the heart ceases to yearn.
The people who walk its streets with distant, dreaming eyes do not laugh, nor do they cry. They do not seem to hunger or thirst, nor do they speak of where they came from, or why they are here. And as I wandered through the pale colonnades and orchards of luminous fruit, I felt the weight of something vast and forgotten, something in the very stones beneath my feet, as though Celephaïs was not merely a city but a place between places, a waiting room for those who have abandoned the waking world but not yet embraced oblivion.
What happens to those who remain here too long? Do they become part of the city itself, lost to memory, their essence absorbed into its endless twilight? I cannot say. But I have felt its pull, the slow erosion of my own past, the way my name feels less certain each time I speak it aloud.
The Choice to Remain or Depart
I do not know how long I have been here. Days? Weeks? An eternity? The golden towers still gleam, the silent figures still drift through the lavender streets, and the turquoise temple still stands as it always has. But I remember a world beyond Celephaïs, a world where the sun rises and sets, where time moves forward, where longing and sorrow exist alongside joy.
There is a ship in the harbor, its violet sails trembling against the breath of an invisible wind, bound for Serannian and the horizons beyond. Some say it is the way home; others say it is the last step into true and utter dream, beyond even the Dreamlands themselves.
The city does not stop me. Celephaïs does not hold, it merely watches.
The choice is mine, and yet, my feet do not move.