There is an echo here, the far off howling of a memory. Expanding outward from inception to fill the hollowness but then falling away. Diluted by the nothingness. Repeating onward and onward into nothingness. But it never quite fades. Nothing can ever be destroyed, unfortunately. In the air, even millennia after the fact, these words still hang. The walls that created them, shaved by the sounds glistening off their rigid faces. This cavern, a massive gash in a mountainside. A wound no man remembers.
Something, somewhere, always remembers. The wake of every action felt by their sole observers.