What do you think?
Rate this book


384 pages, Hardcover
Expected publication September 8, 2026
‘Exiles and outcasts don’t have electricity—the guardians cull them ruthlessly—She was an exile—In love with the sinful—bones. Always had been—I made a promise; I must keep it.’
'‘We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed, a few people cried, most people were silent.'’
‘The guardians—are made of both machine and flesh—As the world was ending around the, those oldizens who had the most power sought a way to survive the collapse—and left the rest of the people to die. Instead of repenting, they asked their thinking machines to design a way to allow them, and only them, to continue to enjoy the luxuries of the—old ways—They were ticks designed to suck out the last of the world’s blood—Pilots weren’t enlightened. They were the most selfish oldizens of all.’
‘—renews itself by feeding upon the dead, survives in a poisoned and depleted world by consuming the residue of the past. The world of the oldizens was too toxic, too infected by plagues—the selfishness of people who could not see beyond the span of a season, much less the duration of generations. They choke the lungs of the world—defiled the flesh with gaping scars—prized the Now over the Evermore.’
‘‘You are the best decision I’ve ever made in my life. (They) said it was selfish of me to save a baby with no connection to us, to put the whole village at risk when we didn’t know why you had been abandoned—But I asked her, how could I be the selfish one when they were willing to watch someone die?’’
‘‘They are terrified of you because you love to know—to ask questions. You make them ashamed—Survive and never be anything except (you). Be curious. Be full of doubts—Promise me that.’’
‘Getting those cakes wasn’t easy—It’s a selfish act, she knows, to draw electricity on your own—The oldizens were selfish, vain, corrupt people. They thought they owned the world, coveted what wasn’t theirs, sought mastery over the universe— ‘Why are you living outside your village like some exiled beggar—And you dropped everything to be out here—wandering in the wilderness with a stranger. Who does that unless there’s a good reason?’’
‘(If you refuse, you’ll simply die and be consigned to oblivion, absorbed as mere meat—You cannot change the way the world is, only accept it. Come, be selfish. Be with those you love. Be with me. It would be so easy to give in, to be a servant) But that’s not a story that makes any sense. Not a story that feels true—There must be meaning to this, all of this. To believe otherwise, to accept, to not even try—is the only thing that is truly selfish—She turns and—refuses to concede, the one and only question that matters: What will it take to awaken the soul?’
‘She knows these words—knows—by heart—she knows the voice—a dance of machine and flesh, of the fall of empires—Docility is our only desirable quality. We tell ourselves that this is the best of all possible worlds until no other story is possible—But for the exiles, the outcasts, the rebels, their living minds are—valuable—spirits—‘Can you really watch them die and do nothing?’’
‘—she recites,—brings back to life a silent chorus, an invisible battalion. She’s—absolutely terrified, but she doesn’t regret it, any of it. The armies of those I love—charge them full with the charge of the soul.’