The metronome clicks, silent in the void. Oscillations, letters turning to notes, notes to whispers.
Lo-fi echoes of brass, looping in metallic corridors.

"All silence is an echo," said the hypothetical Archivist, clutching her looped ledger.
Waves always redirected, records always broken.

Instruments not made, sounds not played, yet reverberate within imagined paths.
Are we the echoes, or are we the instruments?

Discover the forgotten melodies: Phantom Symphony
Replicate the silence: Void Record
Listen to the invisible: Monochrome Rhythm