“That’s not quite true.” Caeror hesitates. The gentle reluctance of a man about to deliver terrible news. “Those ruins you said you visited, near the Academy? That place was built to stop a Cataclysm. One the architects knew was coming.” He rubs his face, then smiles at me in sincere, rueful apology. “They’re culls, Vis. The Cataclysms are culls by an enemy that everyone on our world has forgotten. That one those architects were trying to prevent? It was the eleventh. The eleventh in three thousand years. And even with all their knowledge, they failed.”
