Fragmented whispers from unknown frequencies, drifting on stellar winds. The connection was haloed in static, yet the story remained.
"The sun never sets in the village between two seas," an unscripted voice sang through the void, its source a constellation denoting memories untold.
The stars flickered apologetically, casting lines that weaved, or perhaps misaligned destinies. Signals aligned in rhythmic pulses, echoing softly - a narrative lost in the ecliptic haze.
As if tumbling stones from a forgotten nebula, ripples in the cosmic weave plotted tales of heroes unnamed and battles unwaged.
A voice inscribed in the sands of time, "Listen well, for not all echoes whisper history. Some sing prophecy." And the stars blinked once more, their silver truths barren and beautiful.
Decode their chorus. The secrets lie in Constellations, untold in Murmurs.