Umbra is a Dystopian Fantasy narrative project that has been in development since 2011, it is a narrative intended to be an illustrated novel.
Ever heard of those mythologies and legends about creatures? Ever wondered why we don’t see them? The sun, our source of energy and light. Creatures are afraid of the infinite brightness of the sun and subsequently they hide in the shadows it casts. But what will happen if the sun is extinguished?
This is a world, floating aimlessly in the universe without an orbit to hang on to, a world where all the creatures told in the legends rule. Humanity’s survival is at stake, but in a drifting world covered in a veil of darkness; their sins are ever more amplified dwindling their chances of survival.
This narrative is an on-going project, you can see the occasional update on the journal, direct back to here to read more.
A young man clad in crimson winter attire travels aimlessly in an endless sea of white, small yet noticeable cuts of snow grazes his face and aside from the numb ears, the heavy wind is all that he can hear; he’s completely vulnerable under the whim of the elements. Trudging through the cement-like snow, he reaches the peak on his trail; over yonder he vaguely sees a silhouette, unrefined but it’s a start. Reaching the outskirts of a capsized gate, he stumbles upon a small figure covered under an inch of snow; something trembles from within. Without giving as much as a glance, he continues into the wreckage when suddenly an eruption of movement shoots up like a volcano full of energy exclaiming,
“Are you being serious!” without so much as a flinch the crimson heartless continues walking as if nothing happened.
“I could of died and that’ll be on your conscious mister!” The sound of slush charges towards him, the air seems to have lost its chilling tension. Finally meeting face to face, a glare attempts to pierce at him, the echoing of the lone stampede subsides, the tension in the air returns but warmer. Forcing him where he stands, surrendering his attention towards the obstacle before him.
“My name is Becks, short for Rebecca. You don’t happen to have any food do you?” the stern yet warm voice travels through the narrow open area and quietly leaves; a loose part of debris begins its descent, as soon as it creates a sound the reply that came back is, “No.”