Night spreads its infinitely dark shroud above, a vast ocean of glimmering conspiracies. Each star, a pinprick in the ether, seems to whisper secrets known only to those unafraid to trust the chaos. Look longer, look closer, and you may see them: shadows cast by the astral world onto the terrestrial, signals in Morse that spy agencies intercepted but chose to bury deep beneath their vaults for reasons unfathomable. Is the truth buried there?

The constellations—like fixed sentinels—inch toward an unseen agenda. Who among us dares to decode their language? Those loops and knots woven in skies, illuminating hidden pathways to clandestine realms, perhaps meant to align with nothing more malevolent than our own curiosity. But with the stars watching, watching always—what is alignment but a deception?