Oh media, we have no knowledge except that which you’ve bestowed upon us! Their truth remains stained by your falsified fiction; in the Society of the Concealed Sun, the shadows provide the only truth you know.
For 28 years, my mother’s feet have carried me across the world. I watched as she fled from one place to other to seek safety. Took a beating to safeguard us. Watched as she held her open stomach together with one hand and held me the other. My mother always said to tell the truth in your story; she is my truth.
The sea exhales the cold air of the North, and Nomads pray not to meet Poseidon’s wrath before hearing the windy lullabies of European coastlines. The delicate murmurs of the winds, now coloured with a more urgent desperation, surround them. The fear of drowning no longer constrains them.