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September 14 - September 19, 2025
As a child, we believe the world enchanted because age has not killed the magic we are born with. As we grow, the simple spells of new sights and far-off places no longer work on us, and we grow cynical and cold. But I was old even then, a young man of one hundred ten—one hundred fifteen years? I no longer recall. But in age once more the magic returns, if you are willing and open to it. Though young wood does not burn for the moisture in it, as a lonely cinder may catch in old, dry wood and spark a great burning, so do such small things kindle the hearts of those with eyes and time to see.
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But even when the world is at its most violent, Hadrian, focus on the beauty of it. The ugliness of the world will come at you from all sides. There’s no avoiding it.
“I wish things were different.” “Everyone does, in times like these,” I said. “But we do not choose the challenges of the day. Only our answers to them.”
And there she was—standing, by pure chance—on the very spot where this story ends. A cairn stands there now, a pile built of black stone hauled from Thessa’s higher climes.
They deserved peace. Deserved more than I could give. But none of us gets what we deserve, good or ill. Such has been my blessing—and their curse. I have been to Thessa recently. The buildings are still there. Those prefabricated structures—wrought of plastic and alumglass—were made to out-sit the centuries. They have not been moved. Wandering there, I was a lonely ghost, recalling the echoes of whoops and laughter, of cries and song. But they are gone now. They are gone.
They are beyond your comprehension. Powers old as the oldest stars. Creatures defying Science in the purest sense. Defying your capacity to know.
In a dry voice, I answered him. “He comes.”
