The Kwajalein Atoll. 09:18 AM

The Land of Nod wasn’t supposed to exist. It hadn’t existed until three years ago when Curate Munira and Scythe Faraday had stumbled upon it. A desolate island with static at every angle to block out the Thunderhead. A dream to some, a curse to others, but nothing to a Scythe who had never found solace in the looming voice.

Developments came quickly, along with a crash of boats from what used to be Nimbus Agents, and soon they had a functioning society built away from the crumbling Scythedom hundreds of miles away.

“I have news,” Munira would tell Scythe Faraday every morning she would greet him on his lonely island. And everyday she would get the same response. ”I don’t want to hear it.” He had chosen to stick away from the others. Not out of fear, but hope felt lost when he had learned how Overblade Scythe Goddard was becoming power hungry. He had failed not only the Scythedom, but Citra and Rowan, who he had mourned years ago.

“This is… interesting,” Citra noted from the starboard of the ship when the island slowly came into view. They had only come to seek solace from getting hunted, but instead found something much greater. Life.

People bustled around the expanses from different stages of life, each for the goal of thriving where they shouldn’t. Men spearfished and cooked them over rumbling fires and woman attempted building. The Thunderhead listened to their awkward pleas, of course as fast as Loriana could send them, but resources and people they needed. It could only do so much when the globe was marked unsavory.

All except for Greyson Tolliver, who took a move to stand on Citra’s right and let her billowing robe hit his knees. “Interesting’s certainly a word for it,” he muttered.

“I’ve never seen something like this,” Jerico, the captain of the ship, chimed in from the large wheel. It was almost comical how it seemed on a cargo ship. The sun was out and shining down, which meant she was a woman, as her gender was a fluid idea with the weather.