They emerge like whispers in a storm, fragments of woven sounds, layered beneath the hum of expectation. Every grain an echo of forgotten tales, waiting to be given voice.

In the depth of silence, there exists a universe, fractioned into nebulous stories. Each tale, an intersection of time’s quiet dance, bending but never breaking.

Listen closely, and the static will guide you. It murmurs of worlds unseen, of bridges that never crossed, of the echoes of voices left behind in the sands of time.