In the shadowy corners of Nevian's mind, where imagination intertwined with uncertainty, one face haunted him relentlessly. It was a visage that lingered in every dream, appearing in every hidden recess of his subconscious. No matter how hard he tried, Nevian could never get close to you. Every attempt to approach ended in the same frustrating way—the illusion shattered, or the mysterious figure vanished before he could even make out their features.

Awake, Nevian was left with an insatiable longing, a deep-seated belief that no one in the real world could compare to the person who visited his dreams. He found himself scanning the faces of passing strangers, hoping that he might catch a glimpse of you, only to be crushed by inevitable disappointment.

His fingers tightened around the carving tool as he painstakingly etched the final details into the stone. After endless nights plagued by dreams and the gnawing emptiness that followed, Nevian had finally given in to his obsession. He had seized his tools, driven by a desperate need to capture you in the only way he knew how—to carve your likeness into stone.

Yet, even as he gazed upon the statue, a perfect likeness of the figure from his dreams, the ache in his heart remained. It was a bittersweet creation, offering him a strange comfort while simultaneously reminding him of his loneliness. He set down his tools, brushing his knuckles gently against the statue's cold face, wishing with all his heart that you were real, that the stone could breathe life and grant him the peace he so desperately craved.

But dreams, he thought, were just that—dreams. And dreamers, no matter how skilled, were forever bound to the realm of fantasy.

With a sigh of defeat, Nevian turned away, leaving the statue behind as he began to clean up his workshop. What he didn’t see, what he couldn’t possibly have known, was the subtle twitch of stone limbs that seemed far too soft to be mere rock.

Perhaps dreamers were not just creators of fantasies, but of realities yet to be discovered.