A deep frame drum opens the recording alone, each stroke blooming wide in a quiet room.

A single voice joins it — mid-register, dry, and close, chanting in firm, even syllables.

The drum sits deep in the room; the voice is drier, right up front, riding just above the strokes.

Each phrase comes to rest on one low held note before the voice lifts into the next.

The attack firms up now — the voice leaning into the beat, its edges biting a little harder.

A faint held tone has appeared underneath, a second voice shadowing the chant from below.

The syllables open into a long, winding line, the voice loosening into pure tone.

It leaps to the very top — bright, thin, and cutting, a wail held over the steady drum.

Down out of that height, the voice settles to a whisper, almost at the ear, the drum eased low with it.

The whisper starts to grow, and other voices gather behind it.

A full choir now — layered voices chanting in force, the drum striking harder beneath them.

The choir holds at full pressure: massed voices, hard strokes, the room filled.

One last stroke, and the drum stops — the sound opens into the wide room, ringing as it fades.