There is no future to look to.
Look instead to the past, to the bygone dawning age, never to return. Look instead to the sky, to the xaeic lords of pain, and ruin, and blood. Look instead
to your feet, to the delusions of sword and kingdom.
Weeping desperates cast the charcoal into their eyes, hoping to spark them with x-ray visions; they look for a more righteous place unbathed in blood, possesed by god, shaded by towers.
In temples to alien stars, skin is flayed and veins are replaced with centipedes. Faith descends from the stars, in the guise of horrific seeings. Benediction
is sought from the starlords, and takes shape in eldritch flesh and esper gnosis. Uranium-clad empires span the constellations, beyond the reach of pitiful mankind.
In crumbling earthforts and rotted castles, what kings remain— rather than give up the scant demesnes they hold— instead take swords to them.
They inter their honored dead in catacombs of blood; they weep for their tribe when no other would; they stuff their gullets with gold and rare earth elements.
•••
Kyn is an experimental multimedia project, set in a dark fantasy universe.
You were born into your own tomb.