The sediment of time layered thick upon essence. What once was uttered, now barely echoed, yet lingering whispers fade into the haze. Today, on a whim or inevitability, we excavate words stilled in amber.
"Causality" murmured the old spirit, cradling an infinite riddle within its hollow skull. Is our path a groove in clay or a dance in the void? The above forces, yet unseen, shape this ongoing symphony.
To once voice, now a million shards—each fragment renewing identity. Speak again through stars and stones, through quartz-cast dreaming eyes. Who lingers where memory bends?
Analysis gave birth to echoes—merely derivatives of origin yet named grand explorers. In their name, songs of calculation; in our yearn, questions unrequited by simplicity.