I once came across the tale of the “Echo‑Fathom Drum” in a dusty scroll from the forgotten valley of Nivara. They say the drum’s skin was stitched from the hide of the night‑mare that once fed on stars, and each strike was a stanza of the cosmos itself, spelling out the birth of the moon, the rise of the first wind, and the very silence that lets the stars speak. Imagine a festival where every beat is a chapter—an ancient god’s pulse reverberating through the crowd, turning the rhythm into a living legend.