In the shadows of an ethereal metropolis, where the buildings touched the edge of galaxies and the sky was painted with digital hues, a whisper began its journey. This whisper was no ordinary sound; it was a fragment of lost futures, remnants of stories untold, fragmented across the void.
The echo carried a message, or perhaps messages, or perhaps a tangled web of multilayered signals vying for reality. It traversed through circuits and wires, seeking solace in the silicon memory of a once-vibrant city. But oh, how different it had become—silent yet screaming in chaotic streams.
Somewhere amidst the static and noise, someone listened. A solitary figure atop an iron spire, gazing into the disarray of optical light and fragmented stars. The figure pondered: What was the meaning of this echo? What futures lay fractured beneath the digital expanse?
Stories were woven into the fabric of the city, just like these echoes, like threads in a cosmic loom, each story a universe in itself. Yet the figure could not grasp them, not fully. Instead, they heard whispers of dreams never dreamt, lives never lived, and the silent scream of an echo waiting to be heard.