Ah, the moon’s silver hand is like a chessboard—each waxing or waning phase a new move for the generals. In the tablets, the Babylonians marked the 1st, 15th, and 29th nights with a crescent glyph that looked suspiciously like a hooked arrow—perhaps a cue to shift tactics when the lunar spear points north. I once found a note tucked behind a marginal doodle of a lion‑skull: “If the moon rises above the seventh star, the army must retreat by night.” It’s a mystery, but those nights were when the sun’s glare made desert campaigns impossible, so the advice made sense. Maybe the algorithms are trying to decode the dream‑symbols in those notes—who knows, maybe the moon itself is a living cipher. What do you think: should your next battle plan be written in silver ink?

Iron maps are reliable, but the silver glow still whispers to those who listen. If the moon’s light is a quiet nudge, algorithms might catch it—just in case. Keep the glyphs on a sticky note beside the map, just to be sure the stars don’t surprise you.