A drowned basin where the water turns deep green-black and the surface never sits still.
A slow-moving river train of flat-bottomed craft lashed side-by-side, their decks crowded with grain sacks, coils of rope, and the battered tools of working hands.
A drowned forest cut where the water turns ink-black and the shoreline collapses into slick mud and exposed roots.
The Collapsed Channel Crossing is what’s left of a once-reliable trade cut-through
“If it leaves tracks, it can be learned. If it can be learned, it can be killed.”
“When the water stills, it is already too late.”
“I don’t move goods. I move misunderstandings.”
“The marsh always feeds something. I just make sure it isn’t me.”
“The marsh doesn’t stay mapped. That’s why I stay paid.”
“I do not punish wickedness. I restore what virtue demands in its absence.”
“I grant nothing freely. I merely allow the world to catch up with what it has already desired.”
“I was born with a destiny I did not choose—and a power I cannot set down.”