Once, far away in time, there was one who beheld a great sight. And they knew not what they had seen, for the light was too blinding, and the noise too great. Yet the taste and feel of it lingered in their soul; the light was as sweetness upon their tongue, and the sound was pleasing to their ears.

And they remembered, returned to their dwelling, and spoke of it to their beloved, who shared it with their offspring, who in turn told it to their own kin, and they to their neighbors. And it was told again and again, adorned with many words and songs, for the tale was wondrous and strange. And it stirred their hearts, causing their voices to tremble as they spoke it, tasting it as they uttered it aloud.

So it was that the world became filled with such tales—visions and voices that echoed through the ages, weaving into the very fabric of the earth, into all that humankind had gathered on their many journeys. And as the waters ripple upon a still pond, so too do these tales meet and merge, becoming a vast sea of stories—what was told in ages past and what is yet to be spoken.

To hear such a tale is to listen to the living breath of a thing that still lingers in the world; the crackling and the groaning of that which has left its mark upon the hearts of all: a flash of lightning, a clap of thunder on a clear day, the wind bending the reeds, metal striking against metal, the great crash of a tree falling to the earth.

And there are times when a mighty tale comes to us, not merely through our ears, but through our very flesh and being. It is a tale so strong that it causes the very dust of which we are made to tremble. A noise so great it shatters the thickest bridges of words, forcing every capillary, every nerve, to vibrate. And it leaves us silent, its hum echoing deep within us, resounding through time and space.