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#1 [en] 

"Tchik tchik … tchik tchik.” The hammering of my pick on dry earth strikes a regular rhythm. It helps me focus; the sound is soothing. Another piece of amber appears amid the freshly scratched earth. I pry it loose and store it carefully in my sack. Ozelott would be pleased I’m not filling my pockets with dirt anymore. I whistle tunelessly under my breath as I work in the comforting darkness of the pre-dawn.

Life in the Void seems peaceful, but perhaps that is a delusion crafted from my own ignorance. Or is it denial? The reports speak of marauder activity almost daily across the Staring Ranges, and more than once I glimpsed – and felt – the cold gaze of a Zinuakeen initiate staring at me as I hustle across the lush meadows with my forage and spoils. Not that I blame them – this zo’lin-ko skirt has a bulls-eye painted on that would make even the most forward-thinking Fyros blush. Yet, beyond this amusing thought is the bleakest of prospects… are we losing the war?

The emergence of the kitin was a bittersweet catalyst for hominity’s unification. Yet, the passing generations - their memories ever cushioned by Time's misty shroud - increasingly regard our enmity as that of equals. They clearly do not care to remember the trauma of our most recent origins. Chiang’s efforts and his sortie in Silan are but a thimbleful of caution against the tide of innocent heroism that permeates the younglings. The younglings… who speak of glory and mastery, the bravest of whom weave their enchantments upon the patrols that haunt the Roots. Sailing to meet them, in a tiny scream unfurling from the farthest depths of my mind, is the dreadful premonition that our ancient foe merely slumbers. To what shall it awaken? A land divided or restored?

I have nightmares of the former. Of the latter, one can only hope.

Another amber. This one is quite remarkable; a lustrous piece that has escaped the ravages of time and its rather unceremonious resting place. Brushing aside dirt and root, I hold it up. And the first rays of the morning arc their way over the horizon, piercing it, igniting my hand with a fiery glow. Cufflinks for Ghuiss. Yes, these will do nicely. That old bat could do with a bit more bounce in his step.

I stow my pick and stand. The land is waking. Teeneemai idles nearby; immersed in my thoughts and surrounded by the dark caress of the pre-dawn, I did not hear her soft footsteps. I wave... she waves. A distant soul, but a friendly one.

I smile. The world is awake.
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