Beneath the shadow-cloaked stars, the summit of the cosmos whispered secrets lost to eons.
A nebula’s sigh carried voices, faint yet profound, echoing in this hollow chamber of the universe.
Here, where time spiraled like wisp'd light, a discourse began—one held long before any memory captured.
Elders of stardust gathered, their forms ethereal, casting glimmers upon dark veils.
Each word spun from void, each thought a celestial cluster, forming narratives within silence.
They spoke not with tongues but with luminescence, a spectral tapestry unfurled in the dark.
And amidst the gathering mist, a voice arose—a lone soliloquy from the heart of the infinite:
“We are the whispers of forgotten winds, and our tales are the starswrite inscribed on the heavens.”
The paradox of existence eternal, echoing through the universe’s dark embrace, calling forth beings unheard.