The fabric between what is known and unknowable is thinner than a whisper. An echo in the void, a ripple in time.
In the beginning, the ancients spoke of the Echo Stones—fragments of worlds unheard, adrift in the cosmic sea. To understand their truth, one must first listen to their silence.
Understand, for this knowledge is both alien and achingly familiar. It dances on the edge of memory, as if you have known it all in another life.
Stars do not speak in tongues, yet their silence is a library of truths. A constellation whispers in geometric language, written across the dark parchment of the night.