In the dusken vault of the celestial chamber, where starlight congeals into shadows, you will find the whispers of elder songs. Melodies that have traveled the vast void, wrapped in cosmic dust, lingering now, on the precipice of silence. The resonance of the great void, a symphony of the unseen, herded by the invisible hands of time.
These are not the songs of mortals, crafted from strings and meant for the firelight dance, but the refrains of the abyss, ethereal and unchanged. They speak in forgotten tongues, their cadence like the slow resumption of sleep in a world made of stars and void.
Here lies the path to phantom echoes, a journey through the dim-lit corridors of the galactic heart, where each note is a lullaby for the dying galaxies.