Book One – Chapter 9

It was not just the sky.

As he stood and stared and strained his eyes against the vast expanse of nothingness that surrounded him, Yves realised that he could not recognise any light beyond the radius of the Vicha. He saw nothing beyond its twisted threshold.

It was night, so yes, everything was dark. Yet, in the distance, the storm persisted, thunder reverberating through the desolation. Yves knew there must be lightning slashing through the firmament. But no matter where or how long he looked, he did not see a single streak of gold cleaving through the enveloping blackness.

How far did the Vicha’s influence extend? A meagre two kilometres, perhaps even less?

Yves could not see light past two kilometres.

Yves could not see past two kilometres.

A mere three months past, he had revelled in the brilliance of 𝞨𝟁𝞬’s cosmic canvas. He had beheld the radiant stars and the two majestic moons that graced the firmament, oblivious to the impending eclipse that would forever obliterate their presence. The aftermath of the storm left him haunted by their absence.

Throughout the tempest that had relentlessly pursued him from the lighthouse, Yves had been oblivious to the decay of his surroundings. Rain and mist, unrelenting in their assault, had veiled his vision to the point where they had swallowed even his outstretched hand, leaving him blind to the encroaching darkness until now.

Until yesterday, Yves had relied on his second sight to discern the energies in his immediate surroundings. Even during the previous afternoon, when the rain had ceased for the first time in forever, respite had been fleeting, confined to mere hundreds of meters. The clouds and fog never dispersed between the unyielding rainstorms. Their newfound absence gave him nothing but impenetrable darkness. Yves heard thunder, but saw no lightning — which meant that all phantom presences of light were lost to him beyond this distance.