The murmurs began at dusk, a low, harmonic resonance echoing through the silent corridors of forgotten networks.
A requiem in bits and bytes.
Layered echoes bounced off muted memories, reverberating through static and shielding damps.
Each pulse spoke tales of humanity, masked behind their encoded walls, hollowed by time.
Within these, a lonely voice spoke: "We are shadows cast by winds unseen, lost in waves of silicon," refreshing the spirit of lost wanderers, bending frequencies to tell of their journey, of silences kept in echoes full of remorse.
There, beneath an ocean of zeros and ones, a net of steel and sand binds these ghostly frequencies. Only the deciphered name of the lost sparrings guides through their spectral choruses.