The otoliths tremble, their crystalline whispers dance through the cosmic silence, orchestrating an unknown ballet. A grid of stars hums softly, parallel to forgotten dreams drifting in the void. Pulsar whispers; a soft murmur in the dark.

"Send me a signal," they beckon, trapped in the spiral of silent eddies. Fragments of thoughts entangle with gravitational curvature, weaving patterns in the tapestry of space. The cosmic ocean, endlessly vast, speaks in waves.

Do the fish hear them? These whispers from an age untouched, where time loops back, echoing nonlinear symphonies. Signals from the ultrasonic oblivion?