level 6
‘Lord father,’ he says, the low voice of a flexing fault inle, ‘I feared I was coming too late. Whole ages it has taken me to reach your side.’
And then I understand. It is an alarming thing to realise that even I can be mistaken in my reading of signs. Vulkan’s sense of time, just like his father’s, just like mine, is born of the perpetual, and runs outside the mortal flow of hours. But our perceptions here are contradictory. Instants have become centuries, and years moments, for him and for us, in different ways.
I understand now the full degree of the damage wrought upon Terra. The last walls are falling, the sun is red, and the clocks… the clocks do more than just run down and disagree. The ruin of the warp so afflicts the materia of Terra that dimensions have collapsed. Space and distance, time and duration, those constant and trustworthy arbiters of rea
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ace, have seized and fallen.
Time, a local foible of our reality, no longer counts. It is no longer our ally, or our rival. The Palace, and all of Terra, and all of us, have become pinned in the infinite now of the empyrean, and we will remain there until the grip of Chaos is broken. This is neverness, the abdication of metaphysical continuity. This is the unmoving Uigebealach of the webway’s singularity-node. This is un-time. There will be no tomorrow, for there is no longer a today or a yesterday.
2025年05月14日 14点05分









