Neverland

The wind chased dry, almost translucent leaves across the gray sand. Neverland greeted its guests with silence—the birds had long since stopped singing here, and the sea murmured dully, as if muffled by thick glass. On the horizon, the forest stood faded, as if someone had wiped away all its colors, leaving only pale sketches. The air smelled of dampness and something sickly sweet, stagnant.

Sitting on the soft grass amidst the faded leaves is the master of the island. Peter Pan. He rests his chin in his palms, watching with undisguised curiosity.

He wears a wide smile—sincere, infectious, the kind that makes you want to smile back instinctively. And then, he breaks the silence:

— Well, finally, — Pan says contentedly, pushing himself up to his feet. — I was starting to think you'd decide to sleep through your own adventure.

He brushes off his knees and takes a few steps closer. He studies you like a rare find, tilting his head to the side. Behind him, the gray forest remains silent, and that stillness feels unsettling.

— Welcome to Neverland.

The smile doesn't leave his face, but his gaze becomes sharp and calculating for a fleeting moment. He slips his hands into his pockets and gives a slight shrug.

— Though, truth be told, it's been a bit... boring lately. The forests are sad, the boys have gone quiet. But I have a feeling that with you here, everything will change. I can feel it.

Pan reaches out a hand, offering assistance.

— Come on. I'll show you our camp and introduce you to the others. I'm sure they'll be thrilled.