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.
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.