I'm still in my early stages. Fully grown? I am not. Take away my center, and I become molten hot.

Everything can create me, but nothing can see me. I can pass great distances at speed, but the further i go, the weaker i get.

When the group of fishes crowd together and where they hang at

Using just four tiny letters, I can write more about you than anyone could read in a decade.

Beyond the day, before the dark, I leave a silent, fading mark. A sacred pause, a spectral hue, Where ancient tales might still ring true. They say in me, the unseen walk, And whispers from the past can talk. What am I?