Megosztott hang

And in that stillness… something else… begins… Not a return… not a repetition… But a memory… soft… and distant… Like footsteps… once heard… long ago… The tunnels… though quiet now… still hold… echoes… of every movement… every voice… every breath… that once filled them… Faint traces… that linger… in the unseen… Corners… where lantern light… used to tremble… Paths… where countless steps… slowly wore the ground… Walls… that remember… even when no one else does… And if