The whisper of the past winds through valleys of stone and silent halls. Echoes of laughter, disputes, and song—unsung melodies that never found their audience—linger on.
Among these echoes are voices of the forgotten craftsmen, who etched their names in clay, of the poets who sang to the stars with no one to hear. Each word pressed into history like footprints in sand, waiting to be heard.
Here lies the cacophony of their dreams—realistic fragments, down-to-earth reflections. Moments of clarity, fragments of unfinished narratives, yearning to resonate in the souls of the living.