Amongst the abyssal plains, where light dares not tread, whispers of the ocean's history linger. Ancient currents, like forgotten tomes, carry tales from a time before time, and woe to those who ignore their counsel.
"Only in the silence of the depths can one hear the echo of eternity," the ocean murmurs, entwined in its own melodic lament.
The deeper you venture, the more pronounced the whispers become. They speak of sunken cities, draped in coral and shrouded in myth, of leviathans glimmering in moonlit depths, and of currents that reverse time's flow. This is not fiction, but the language of the tides, a lexicon written in salt and echoes.
Observe, if you dare, the myths of rising seas and their implications. Listen to the voices of the abyss, and witness the dance of currents and creatures as they engage in an eternal ritual.
The ocean, a keeper of secrets, a custodian of lore, communicates not through words, but through resonances that vibrate in the marrow of those who seek to understand. Thus, the whispers remain: elusive, enigmatic, eternally draped in the shadows of waves.