In the twilight frequencies, we observed the echo of stars that never were. Their light traveled millions of silent miles, only to rest and fade upon your consciousness.
The old tower, veiled in fog, whispered secrets to those daring enough to listen. The phrases were lost, jumbled among the static:
"The third angle is but a mirror... returning to..."
A crackling voice, distorted, murmured:
"Do not trust the horizon when the moon is awake... Listen for the silence, it is your compass."
Further into the ether, another station flickered: