It begins in fragments—a whisper on the cusp of a forgotten dance. Each note, a shard of crystalline sound, pierces the silence of an untouched void, reverberating in spheres unseen. It ebbs and flows, echoing through the chasms, singing a tale older than stars. Time holds its breath, allowing the melody to weave its tune through the fabric of the cosmos. As if unraveling the quiet, spectral observers watch unseen, guardians of the sonorous ballet.
Lament of the Echo you might follow, flitting through realms of memory lost to night, there where the silence composes a requiem. Or wander the pathways to the Temple of Melody, nestled within the harmonics of fate, its stones woven of song, each a stanza of a grand epic unwritten.