Anaximander's logic was a chilling, perfect echo of the very paths Noah had been forced to consider.
The Fold Dweller stopped pacing and looked at Noah, his expression now one of profound, philosophical contemplation.
"And if all else fails," he said, his voice dropping to a low, almost reverent whisper, "if the cause cannot be stopped, if no shelter can be built, and if there is nowhere left to hide… there is only one, final, and most arrogant solution left."
He met Noah's gaze, and in his eyes, there was a brilliant, almost manic, light.
"You must become the storm. You must cease to be the thing that is in the storm, and become the thing that is the storm. You would have to elevate your own existence to a Scale where the Fallout is no longer an apocalypse, but simply… weather. You would have to become a being for whom the cessation of existence is not an ending, but simply…a Monday."
BOOM!
Noah stared, his expression unreadable.
