When the glow of celestial orbs bleeds into the early dawn, conspiracy becomes conviction. Somewhere among the constellation strings lies the truth, ensconced within the vault of shadows. Illuminated not by flame, but by the hidden hand that guides.
There have been murmurs, whispers through the tenebrous corridors of clandestine discourse. Scientists, astronomers, the supposed conjurers of knowledge, enshrined in their ivory towers— what do they truly know? More than mouths can breathe, surely. Less than we should know, undoubtedly.