Between the whispered dreams, occurring across scattered stardust, there resides an assembly like no other.
Sulfuric curls of wisdom steam forth... beware where you step.
Upon eighth glow, at wish craft's loom, the blackening oil blends ineffables Known.
Heed this notch among its tangled gaze—a shimmering beacon that halts yet persists, yielding serene luminescence.
Sinews of old rhythm appear to pause, trembling channels mark the Crimson Notch draped dark.
Capacious spectra morph the lens without path, inside the ever-turning hourglass cradled by reckless tide begone.