Origin of Echoes

In a world untouched by resonant shadows, the first whisper formed in the realm of the unheard.

An echo, they say, is a memory of sound, lingering longer that one's own mind. It paints songs with shadows and lessons with twilight.

Listen closely, for the whispers of unseen rivers advise eternal diligence. Beneath the reflective dome of night skies, these murmurs teach tones forgotten by the deafening silence.

Lift your eyes to the snowy mountains where the phonetics learn to climb, where voice bounces between steep hollows like an endless learner tracing forgotten tomes in the libraries of wind.

❝ Closer, closer, winds of memory, until all that remains is your touch upon our weary hearts. ❞

And there, in valleys shaped by time, among the stones etched with sanguine meanings, lies the true cradle of echoes shaped by winding streams and growing shadows.

A river murmurs secrets to itself; knowing silence, teaching altitude, it burgeons through drifts of snow and dreams, murmuring wise lullabies untold and unseen.

❝ Speak we to mountains, scarcely hearken their soliloquies; remember whispers of shadows are wiser than thy ostentativeness, nay, for they've heard all from below in silent unison. ❞

In the quest of resounding pathways and diverting echoes, heed also the broken mirrors, where reflections convene unlinearly amidst distorted tales of surface dwellers.