PROLOGUE

The End

It was aboard train three, on the line circling the middle layer of Baedalia, that Felicus caught fire.

At first, the shock of what was happening was enough to override both pain and rationality. Soon, however- in that fleeting moment between coherence and madness- came the gnawing agony of immolation.

Besieged in every direction by the sterile glow of interior light, Felicus ran. He ran atop the polished black floor panels, past ancient, peeling posters, and towards a locked door.

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The train was moving. It’d be seconds at least, minutes at most, and neither option would cease this foreign punishment, and so he screamed, he screamed until his throat was raw, until his fingers could no longer claw into his skin, until he could no longer feel.

The doors slid apart, emptying what was left and welcoming anew. It was the fifteenth hour, and the audience was slim. Unfortunately for them, they were witness to his smoldering corpse, a sign of death to come. Some were on their way to late work. Others were going home. Many would go on to explore the entertainment district, spreading the curse on, and on, and on.

It didn’t matter what happened later. They’d all suffer the same fate of Felicus, and pass that same outcome to all they met.

It took the people of Cistria eighteen months to kill the final carrier of Ash, and thus man’s reign over the old world died. Khemera arose from the earth in a haven of blood, an unknowable planetary symbology of sin, and gazed upon the leftovers. The Great Combustion had ceased.