Beyond the tracks laid out and numbered by the Company's surveyors stretches a desert of white stone and dust that no one has deemed worthy of a name.
Radio waves lose themselves in the rocky expanses and never reach the horizon. Beyond the ridge of the last great, motionless antennae, only the demons seem to moan, howl, or sometimes sing in the static of the electrical relays during the hottest hours.

The endless reaches are a kind of eternity; some have claimed that the realm of the gods begins where the maps end, in silence, the absolute, and absence. Others maintain that the erratic tracks that wander into the barren hills lead nowhere, and that those who follow them will find nothing but fever and despair, crushed beneath the void.



Translated by AI.