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While he could no longer see his grandmother’s body from the ledge of the stone terrace, Reccha felt he could see forever. His young eyes could discern whitehead waves past the shores. He followed the motions of distant vinestones as they floated and bobbed in the aether. With the rainy season ending, the sun's’ light burned through the thick sky with alternations of piercing rays and opaque haze. A streamlet of light warmed the boy’s bare feet.
From his perch, he could see the enemy ships on the shore far below. Some floated on the tide. Others drifted in formation on the aether itself. Reccha still marveled that these ships had sailed so far across the endless sea. The jungles and wilds below him served as the only real barrier between the mountaintop stone city and the invaders on the shore. The jungle grew denser with each step away from the city. If those steps had been built wider, his grandmother had said, then the invaders would certainly have already managed their alien war wagons up the slope to destroy the city built in concentric terraces onto the mountain below....