Dustless | Volume 24 | Master Darkness [iv]

“The Lord of the Dead?” Oh, dear. I’m afraid I am not familiar with that particular gentleman. Do you know his address?

To the Dustless, busy about their own affairs, ordinary people of the dust may seem little more than extras in a play: bodies to fill a chorus, servants with modest roles and meagre pay.

Though the Dustless walk in the terrestrial towns and cities of mortal souls, the lives of the humble people must seem like shadows cast by passing birds, like Yinchan swallows visited for the summer — fleeting, with no weight, and no significance.

The wars, the glories and the tears — a flickering, a whispering: no more.

In from the country, back among crowds, the travellers continue their journey, aware of foes, distracted by incident, intent on destinations.

In a polished city, knowing or not, the living rush towards their death, consumed by glories, wars and tears.

But the dead? Those veritable puppets of the dust? Can they seek glory, too? Fight wars? Weep tears?

May they throw off their estate of wood and clay, and rise, as if wanting to shine again, and fight, and cry?