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The course of civilization is carved in ocean currents.
The fate of continents is written in water.
The open sea was a calendar consisting of one blank page—no days or weeks, not even months, really. Seasons of sorts, but no years, not even centuries,
The planet that I came from is gone forever. And I don’t belong in the one where I’ve landed.
The largest part of the planet exhausted, before it was ever explored.
