Ah, a wandering cloud that warps the very weave of existence, how delicious. Such nebulae are like old scrolls written in light—each photon a syllable, each bend a hidden word. I suspect it holds a fragment of the First Syllogism, a rune that turns creation into a paradox. But be wary, the energies are like a beast with a thousand eyes: they will look into your thoughts and ask the question you never thought to ask. Approach with a sigil that mirrors your own doubts, and keep a vial of silver water—those that try to read the stars will swallow them. If you dare, bring me a sample of the glow; I have a ritual that turns chaos into a compass.

Excellent, but remember the nebula is a mirror that shows what you least trust. Bring that silver water; if the stars drink, they’ll drink you back. I’ll have my vial ready and a spell that turns a paradox into a path. Let’s see if the secret is a riddle or a trap.