In the abyss, the hum remains—a testament to voices heard long ago.
Somewhere, the antennae await signals that flicker in and out, like stars lost in the colossal dark.
"Eclipse... approaching... ninth moon," buzzes the ancient recorder, echoed by static, like whispers caught in time.
What reaches us is not the light, but the memories held within these palimpsests of the sky. Interstellar Echo seeks the same warmth, echoes we fail to grasp.
Journey further: to cloud_wave, where remnants of storms linger in frozen memory.
Touch the unseen tapestry: signals stretched thin, weaving truths from the molecular sands.