Ferment

Guzman swung the door open. "And this is where we store our vintages for aging." The shed was musty and dark, filled with row after row of casks.

Brioche tapped one of the barrels. It clanked dully. "Metal?"

"Titanium alloy."

"Isn't wood more usual? I'd think you'd have trouble with the flavor, with corrosion..."

Guzman nodded. "We've had to find a workaround for some of that, yes, but it's necessary given the unique properties of our materials."

Brioche knocked at the cask more strongly, brow wrinkled in confusion. Under Brioche's hand, the surface shuddered under a return blow.

From inside.