Sanctuaries abandoned to dust and creeping vines. Altars erected by hands that mistook obsession for devotion. Every shadow feels like a witness, and every silence carries the weight of something that should have remained buried. We offer to you this bock as a relect of the summer that once was. Something with a bit more heft to carry you into the autumnal tide. Mashed with flaked corn and Munich malt. Bittered with Magnum and whirlpooled with Callista and Nugget.