Crimson Phantoms of the Obsidian Deep

Six red sails rise from black water; their reflections pulled downward like torn roots. The tallest has pierced the gray cloud cover, turning weather into a second fleet. White hulls hover beneath the sails like small machines caught halfway through sinking. The water stays black. Thin white ripples cut across each red reflection, as if the surface has been crossed out. At the horizon, a narrow line of yellow lights keeps the sky from swallowing everything. Is it a village torched? are they escaping or sailing towards it, or are they saviours of the day?