We are not survivalists. We are not preppers hoarding beans and bullets. We are the ones who hold hands while the sky turns sodium-orange. Who kiss on cracked asphalt as the sirens harmonize. Who leave flowers in gas masks. We fell in love after the news stopped lying about tomorrow.

A Fragment from the Edge of the Last Dawn I. The Name The “i---” is not a typo. It is a slash, a scar, a signal break. It stands for incomplete , infinite , I am . It is the lover’s stutter before the fall. Apocalypse, here, is not an ending — it is the unwalling of the world.

Find us at the edge of the blast radius. We saved you a seat by the fire. Bring wine. Bring your trembling. Leave your plans for the next world behind.