In The Bluelight

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In the Bluelight

The days are fleeting out on the ice. The days are fleeting everywhere, now, but out on the barrens of Kergüs they are even further lessened. Time is thin here. It stretches, twists, freezes. Shatters.

Miseries grip the world, inevitable and unending. The Doomsayers scream that they can’t be stopped, that the end is nigh, that the seventh Misery will come and the world will burn. Verhu’s word has never yet been wrong.

And yet.

Yet.

Maybe there is hope out there in the ice, where time rolls like sludge. Where the end is, perhaps, not quite so inevitable.