“There is no cure,” the baker said as she peered into the mage’s eyes.
Far into the embrace of Night go I, to plunder Dark’s riches from a starless sky.
Ursa Knight leaned back in her chair, sipping only water and glancing over at the man who sat beside her. The base’s commissary was only half full at that time of day, so it was possible for Ursa and the minor diplomat she was babysitting to hear the news report playing on one of the screens hanging from the raftered ceiling.
As if there was anyone left in the solar system who didn’t already know it, the reporter announced that the Nye Anomaly Mission would be launching in a few days from Titan’s Prima Doma Space Base, right where Ursa now sat. The reporter failed to mention the mission’s unofficial nickname, the Mission Beyond The Veil, so called for the more than significant odds of the mission crew not surviving the first part of the journey.
They’re a lot like us. The Promethians. That’s not what they call themselves, but I could never really pronounce (or spell) the proper word, so I call them the Promethians. And others started calling them that too. Because after all, they gave us fire.