In the shadows of forgotten archives, whispers linger.
The library, an endless abyss of tomes and lost words, stands beneath the haunting strains of a dissonant melody. Through these hallowed halls, figures once draped in the contemplation of divine utterances now roam as specters, their voices merging with the ticking of antiquated clocks.
Echoes of a time when the earth spoke through cracks in its crust, when words not meant for human ears slipped through the veils of sleep, haunt these pages. Fragments of Lost Echoes.
Herein lies the Delphic labyrinth, constructed not of stone but of syllables and signs. A place where meaning is a mirage, flickering in the twilight. The question, once asked, loops eternally back upon itself: Perpetual Queries.
And so, the origin remains delphic, shrouded in an enigmatic embrace. The words breathe, whisper, and serenade the silence, awaiting those brave enough to decode their intricate dance.