In the cradle of the obsidian sky, stars whisper. Their luminescence is a call to shadows, a fermented echo of aeons untold. Layered in the twilight mist is the brew of the nefarious and the wise, where galaxies converge on the tip of an alchemist's dream. In every sip lies a journey through fragmented voids, a swirling tapestry of celestial whispers.
Await the crescent moon, where the veil between realms thins. Only then shall the brew unveil its forgotten mysteries; taste the bitterness of forsaken comets and the sweetness of nebulae spun from dreams.