Book One – Chapter 4

THE STORM DID NOT CEASE. The stormy sea threw itself against the rocks below, sending ever higher waves crashing against the lighthouse’s foundation.

The lighthouse, dating back three centuries, bore the marks that time left on all neglected things. Its stone and wood had weathered, taking on a distinguished, mouldy grey hue. Inside, it was filled with broken machinerary and rotten, forgotten equipment. They were a remnant of those novelties and innovations that Tairan cultures once brought to the Northlands, before they had been subdued and extinguished by the sheer masses of primitive, warfaring humans who had roamed the lands back then. Humans had multiplied and spread like insects until the Humans Restrict Act initiated the strategic containment and control of the human race. The closest monitored human habitat was 140 kilometres inland. No other peoples had settled the coastal region since then. The harsh land was saline and void of wildlife, the winds and winters cruel, and fishing impossible without provoking the wrath of the territorial sea beasts. World energies were extremely sparce.

On the desolate coast, wanderers and adventurers were an uncommon sight. Few journeyed to these remote shores, and even fewer still made their way to the abandoned lighthouses and ruins that dotted the coastline. There was no treasure here. Everything had been picked clean decades ago. There was no life. You came here to die, or you came here to disappear from the world, like Yves.