The Silent Accord
Chapter I: A Sliver of Stillness
In the late 1930s of the century, there came an age when people no longer heard the wind.
Not because it ceased to blow, but because the noise of everything else had grown too vast. Cities drummed endlessly—advertisements whispered from vapour screens, traffic sang its daily hymn, children recited lessons aloud to omnidirectional recorders, and even plants were encoded to emit ultrasonic greetings, detectable by smart shoes to suggest footpath mindfulness.
There was no room left for silence.
That was when silence—pure, unstructured, uncorrupted emptiness of sound—was commodified.
It began in Dzerzhinsk, a city that had once been famous for its toxic past and now leaned towards innovation to cleanse itself. A man named Pavel Yurev, former acoustician and part-time mystic, stumbled upon the accidental technique to extract silence from heavily resonant chambers using a fusion of sound-cancellation fields and deep-earth resonance siphons.
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