[{"id":36716,"date":"2026-09-10T03:03:03","date_gmt":"2026-09-10T10:03:03","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/?p=36716"},"modified":"2026-08-05T09:02:24","modified_gmt":"2026-08-05T16:02:24","slug":"author-spotlight-anya-ow-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/nonfiction\/author-spotlight-anya-ow-3\/","title":{"rendered":"Author Spotlight: Anya Ow"},"content":{"rendered":"<p class=\"question\">Can you talk a bit about how \u201cLong Goodbyes\u201d took shape and what inspirations fed into it?<\/p>\n<p>Always a great pleasure and my own honour to be included in <i>Lightspeed<\/i>! \u201cThe Long Goodbye\u201d was a phrase I heard once online in reference to having to take care of elderly, ailing pets. I\u2019ve been caring for a cat with multiple issues for years\u2014he is now eighteen, and every day having to help him relieve himself, groom himself, and move him around has been a bit of a challenge. I think it\u2019s not just an act of love but also of reciprocity\u2014my cat has been there almost all of my adult life and made it better for it. I think as with other forms of love, the love someone shares with a pet is a form of familial love, a concept the story explores in its various iterations.<\/p>\n<p class=\"question\">Sui read to me as someone whose life has been so dominated and wrecked by a forever war that they can\u2019t imagine functioning outside it, which is unfortunately common. Did you have the ending in mind from the start, or did it shift during the writing process?<\/p>\n<p>I\u2019ve always been a pacifist, and recent global trends have only enforced that view. Many of my stories have an anti-war slant, theme, or reference in some way and Sui\u2019s character and the narrative is built with that in mind.<\/p>\n<p class=\"question\">When it comes to giant battle-cats I can\u2019t think of many examples beyond He-Man, and if you\u2019re riffing on something that already exists I\u2019m not familiar with it. Where did the idea of the Zheng come from, and why contract-bound demonic cats in particular?<\/p>\n<p>Exotic animal mounts are a common trope in the xianxia genre, and I\u2019ve been playing a few games where mounts beyond the norm are available like <i>Where Winds Meet<\/i>, though I don\u2019t have the cat mount (yet?) in that game. There are also cat mounts in <i>World of Warcraft<\/i>, etc.\u2014if a game has a cat mount, I usually try to get it! It\u2019s a trope that I personally love seeing in any media, and I\u2019m also a big cat lover. Perhaps strangely, beyond the latest <i>Masters of the Universe<\/i> film I\u2019ve actually not been much of a He-Man fan\u2014when I was a kid I was more into She-Ra. Loved how Cringer looked in the film though!<\/p>\n<p class=\"question\">I thought it was an interesting choice to start off with the undignified details of Taxue\u2019s bladder and bowels, considering what\u2019s revealed of the Zheng later in the story. What led you to start with this?<\/p>\n<p>Having to help my elderly cat brush his teeth, relieve himself, then medicate and feed him is how I start my day every day caring for an older pet, so I felt like it was only natural to begin the narrative structured with the routine as well. After all this time it feels like a general extension of pet care doesn\u2019t define what my cat means to be, however. Similarly, it\u2019s only a routine that doesn\u2019t define what the Zheng is to Sui, at the beginning or at the very end.<\/p>\n<p class=\"question\">Is there anything you\u2019re working on that you\u2019d like to talk about? What can our readers look forward to seeing from you in the future?<\/p>\n<p>I\u2019m always working on my next book, though this particular one has been taking a while to get going since I keep rewriting the start. Hopefully in the future readers can get that into their hands\u2014and as always, a big thank you to everyone for reading!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>\u201cThe Long Goodbye\u201d was a phrase I heard once online in reference to having to take care of elderly, ailing pets. I\u2019ve been caring for a cat with multiple issues for years\u2014he is now eighteen, and every day having to help him relieve himself, groom himself, and move him around has been a bit of a challenge. I think it\u2019s not just an act of love but also of reciprocity\u2014my cat has been there almost all of my adult life and made it better for it.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":27149,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[20,6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-36716","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-author-spotlight","category-nonfiction","section-author-spotlights"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v28.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Author Spotlight: Anya Ow - Lightspeed Magazine<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/?p=36716\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Author Spotlight: Anya Ow - Lightspeed Magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"\u201cThe Long Goodbye\u201d was a phrase I heard once online in reference to having to take care of elderly, ailing pets. 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Dj\u00e8l\u00ed Clark\u200b, Ken Liu, Hugh Howey, Seanan McGuire, Rebecca Roanhorse, Veronica Roth, Jeff Vandermeer, and more. The campaign \u200bends \u200bOctober 15\u200b, so back now!<\/strong><\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<p>Sui grunted as she straightened her back, digging her shoulder up into Taxue\u2019s belly. The Zheng\u2019s hind legs dragged awkwardly on the sand, trembling as the paws knuckled, the sudden weight on Sui pushing the knee she\u2019d braced into the dirt. Sui braced her palms up under the Zheng\u2019s hind legs, feeling for the distended sac of her bladder, swollen larger than Sui\u2019s head overnight. Muscles bulged over arms used to drawing heavy longbows as she compressed it. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. The Zheng raised its five tufted tails, a thin stream of pungent urine spraying out onto absorbent sand.<\/p>\n<p>No fishy smell today. Sui breathed out in relief as she maintained the pressure, waiting until the bladder lost its tightness and shrank into the size of a fist. Sui grabbed the damp cloth from a hook by the Zheng\u2019s stall and wiped Taxue down. As Sui carefully shifted Taxue away from the wet patch and onto its hind legs, the Zheng twisted stiffly, her tufted ears twitching over its white leonine face as she gently licked Sui\u2019s face with a raspy tongue.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAlmost done,\u201d Sui told her. After an induced urination, Taxue sometimes defecated as well. Today\u2019s was wet, but passed without strain. Taxue curled up over her bedding, dropping back into sleep by the time Sui returned from cleaning up. As she bent to check the Zheng\u2019s claws, a shuffled step behind Sui told her that the day\u2019s unwelcome company had arrived.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWho knew that the Sword Saint was so sentimental?\u201d The intruder folded her arms over the long bar that fenced in Taxue\u2019s stall.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDon\u2019t raise your voice, cousin,\u201d Sui said as she squeezed a callused paw pad, wiping down the claw that emerged. \u201cTaxue might be old and ill, but she is a Zheng, not a house cat.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cShe might as well be a house cat,\u201d Yun said with a sneer. \u201cDoing nothing all day but sleep. I told you from the day you came back from the border that you should have taken mercy on it and\u2014\u201d Yun yelped as a stalk of hay, unnaturally stiffened into a needle by qi, shot past and embedded itself in the pillar behind her. Sui lowered her hand as Taxue huffed, stirring uneasily at her master\u2019s flash of temper.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou forget who I am,\u201d Sui said, gently inspecting the next claw.<\/p>\n<p>Strangely, Yun didn\u2019t flee. Annoying as the girl was, she\u2019d been the only one who hadn\u2019t started bowing and scraping when Sui had returned to the family home hauling Taxue in a cart behind her. Military merits, built with blood, had long erased Sui\u2019s disgraceful birth as an illegitimate daughter of a maid and had elevated her mother past being a lowly concubine into one of her father\u2019s main wives. Not that Sui had said much to either her father or her mother, relatives for whom she never had any interest or hope.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHard to forget, when your name is all the rest of us tend to hear,\u201d Yun said. The bitterness in her voice made Sui glance over. \u201cThe Patriarch marries all of us off based on the weight of your name. If you retire early and become forgotten, that will change.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSo?\u201d Sui looked back at Taxue\u2019s claws. \u201cI never earned my merits for my family\u2019s sake.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s why you shouldn\u2019t be here.\u201d Yun lowered her voice. \u201cNot with a weakness this obvious.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Sui set down Taxue\u2019s paw and turned. Yun glared up at her, defiant. Sui reassessed her cousin\u2019s age\u2014she\u2019d thought her at least of marriageable age when they\u2019d first met, with all the women of the house dressed up and coiffed in contrast to Sui, clad in her armour and the dust of the road. Shed of fine clothes and makeup, Yun looked like a child.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWould you abandon a friend who saved your life when the friend grows old and ill?\u201d Sui asked. She tickled through Taxue\u2019s mane, brushing it back to its usual snowy sheen.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019d at least try not to nurse the friend in a den of snakes,\u201d Yun shot back.<\/p>\n<p>Sui chuckled, studying Yun more closely. The skinny girl with a long face had familiar eyes. \u201cYou\u2019re\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. Third Uncle\u2019s daughter?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGranddaughter. My father started young.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThird Uncle did as well. You might do well to rein in your tongue, if you live on his graces.\u201d Sui\u2019s uncles were as mercenary as her father, their habits worse now that the family\u2019s mercantile fortunes had risen with her stock.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDidn\u2019t you have anywhere else you could go?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI did,\u201d Sui said, amused. \u201cThis was the least worst option.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201c. . . You have no friends? That\u2019s sad.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat mouth of yours must get you in trouble all the time. Yet something is interesting about your fearlessness. I wouldn\u2019t expect it of a family like this.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cComing from you?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI learned mine.\u201d It had been desperation that had driven Sui from her home at the beginning, not courage. \u201cYes, I could have called in favours from the E-Mei sect, Shaolin Temple, or any of the Great Clans who owe me. But the lairs of the powerful are all complicated in one way or another.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019re testing us,\u201d Yun guessed.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou give this place too much credit.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Yun set her jaw. \u201cHow\u2019s this, then. The Patriarch wants to marry you off. I overheard it myself.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Sui\u2019s lip curled. \u201cI\u2019m curious how he thinks he might succeed.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe third prince wants you as his princess. He\u2019ll offer you one of the Imperial Hospital\u2019s Divine Panaceas as the bride price.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cA princess would be confined to a backyard, never to take a step out of it in her lifetime. That would destroy any little worth I might have to the Imperial family. It can\u2019t be that simple,\u201d Sui said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou seem more puzzled than disgusted.\u201d Yun paused. \u201cYou\u2019re not interested at all?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Sui tipped up Yun\u2019s chin with a sword-roughened finger. \u201cYou\u2019re being oddly helpful. Little niece, what do you want from me?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cA chance to leave this place and spit on it as I do.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Sui shook her head. She returned to Taxue\u2019s side, stroking her mane. \u201cYou have no talent for martial arts. Marrying well is your best option in this ugly world.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat if I don\u2019t want to?\u201d Yun clenched her hands over the pole.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLife has a way of turning you powerless.\u201d<\/p>\n<p class=\"center\">\u2022\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u2022<\/p>\n<p>The mother Zheng growled. Holding up her hands in surrender, Sui backed off with a smile. Alin giggled as they made it out of the stables, flushed with excitement. \u201cThey\u2019re so cute! Already as big as a human infant.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019d take a year for them to be large enough to ride,\u201d Sui said. Her body ached as she sat against the maple tree in the large paddock. Autumn touched the border in red and gold, its beauty startling against forbidding peaks and gashed ravines. The horizon boiled constantly with purplish miasma, visible as a thin streak from where Sui sat, behind high parapets. The demonic realm lay beyond, kept in check.<\/p>\n<p>Alin sat beside her. \u201cI think you fractured my ribs.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDidn\u2019t break them.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDid you have to hit me so hard? The final match was symbolic. Win or lose, we\u2019d both have qualified to become Zheng riders.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAs if you didn\u2019t hit me back just as hard,\u201d Sui said. She flashed a grin. \u201cBesides, if we didn\u2019t fight at our best, all the boys we displaced to get here might get messy thoughts.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHah! Like you ever cared about that.\u201d Alin glanced at the stables. \u201cStrange. I thought I\u2019d gotten away from caring for kids when I ran away from home and ended up here.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cZheng aren\u2019t kids.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThey\u2019re not pets, either. You\u2019ve seen how effective they are in the war.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019d be signing a master-servant contract on your Zheng. It can\u2019t hurt you,\u201d Sui said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s not what I meant. For the next twenty years or more, we\u2019ll be feeding them, grooming them, and mucking them out. If they were horses, that\u2019d be the job of stable hands.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s the least we can do.\u201d Wild Zheng were mysterious creatures, rumoured to live for centuries. Whether it was the master-servant contract, domesticity, or worse, living as a beast of war had turned the mythical beasts mortal.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019re oddly sentimental today. Don\u2019t tell me\u2014you\u2019re a secret plush lover?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDon\u2019t be ridiculous. We\u2019re in a war, and the Zheng are tools.\u201d Sui tapped her fingertips on the hilt of her sword.<\/p>\n<p class=\"center\">\u2022\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u2022<\/p>\n<p>Resting Taxue\u2019s muzzle over her lap, Sui pushed up her lip, chuckling as the Zheng huffed playfully. The carnal breath that washed over Sui had worsened over time as age began rotting the Zheng\u2019s teeth. Sui tugged up Taxue\u2019s lip to show graying gums and yellowed teeth. She dipped the brush into the basin of water and brushed, ignoring Taxue as the Zheng grumbled.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood girl.\u201d Sui kissed the top of Taxue\u2019s wet nose once she was done. As she cleared the tools away, Yun staggered in with the pail of meaty paste, warmed up enough over the coals to stimulate Taxue\u2019s failing appetite. Pouring it into a large basin, Yun scraped out the last of it with a ladle and backed off as Taxue bent over her food.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cShe\u2019s hungry today,\u201d Yun said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt comes and goes.\u201d On bad days, Taxue wouldn\u2019t even react when Sui brushed her teeth, giving her only a tired stare when made to pee.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWould the panacea help?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo curing age.\u201d Sui stroked Taxue\u2019s mane lovingly as the Zheng ate.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh. So it wasn\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWasn\u2019t me what?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBandits apparently attacked the Third Prince\u2019s convoy. Seems he\u2019s injured, and the panacea\u2019s missing.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Sui blinked slowly. \u201cInteresting.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAbout how convenient it is?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo.\u201d Sui flicked Yun\u2019s forehead. \u201cThat you thought I\u2019d be so crass. If I did want to rob a prince, no one would suspect that it was me. For a start, there\u2019d be no more third prince in this world.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Yun looked around anxiously. \u201cShh!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhile now he\u2019s likely to level demands on me and the family based on what he\u2019s \u2018suffered.\u2019 I\u2019m unsure what Father\u2019s plan is. Perhaps all the soft rice he\u2019s eaten from leeching off his daughter\u2019s name has turned him soft in the head in turn.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Yun frowned. \u201cThe panacea can\u2019t cure ageing. The prince and the Patriarch presumably know that, yet they arranged this anyway, even though they\u2019d offend you. So, why?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter.\u201d Sui tapped her fingertips on the hilt of her blade, a habit she\u2019d taken to since she\u2019d first learned to wield a sword. She\u2019d broken two blades since, and worn down her third. \u201cSchemes matter little in the face of absolute strength.\u201d<\/p>\n<p class=\"center\">\u2022\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u2022<\/p>\n<p>Heiyun lifted his bloodied muzzle and kept a watchful gaze as Sui approached on Taxue\u2019s back. Alin didn\u2019t straighten up, a hand pressed against a tree as she vomited into the bush. The air stank of charnel. Beside them, the creek boiled black with the blood of people and demons alike.<\/p>\n<p>Sui didn\u2019t speak. Taxue\u2019s paws squelched on the grass, her fur matted down with so much gore that the only white patches that remained were on the back of her neck. Blood didn\u2019t show up on Heiyun\u2019s black fur, but it did make his mane stick out at stiff angles. Assessing that Sui wasn\u2019t a threat, Heiyun made a low throaty sound and nudged his master gently.<\/p>\n<p>Alin flinched away. \u201cShit! Don\u2019t touch me!\u201d She skidded back a step and overbalanced onto her ass, armour clanking. Heiyun flattened his ears and lowered his head apologetically.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHe\u2019s worried about you,\u201d Sui said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHe would be.\u201d Alin rubbed her palms over her eyes. \u201cHis master\u2019s a goddamned mess.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s war. It\u2019s what we trained for.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Alin shuddered. She got unsteadily to her feet, her face wet. She rubbed her eyes again, smearing dirt liberally over her forehead. \u201cHalf of our detachment is wounded or dead.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI know.\u201d Sui had checked the triage area first before leaving the camp to look for Alin.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou know\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. you know!\u201d Alin let out a hysterical laugh. \u201cWhy are you so calm!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBecause nothing will change.\u201d Sui pointed at the bloody fields that lay beyond the river. \u201cThe war\u2019s lasted centuries. It won\u2019t end today, tomorrow, a hundred years in the future, when we\u2019re both bones in the ground. At this point, it\u2019ll never end. It\u2019s meaningless to get angry.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019re heartless,\u201d Alin snapped. She strode over to Heiyun and pulled herself into the saddle, urging her Zheng to leap the river.<\/p>\n<p>Taxue huffed, shaking out her mane as Sui absently patted her head. \u201cHead upstream. You need a bath,\u201d Sui said.<\/p>\n<p class=\"center\">\u2022\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u2022<\/p>\n<p>Teeth scraped against Sui\u2019s bracers as she shoved the last pill down Taxue\u2019s throat. The daily ritual complete, Taxue shuffled toward the patch of sun in the paddock. A hind leg gave out, and the Zheng dragged herself determinedly on her belly over the sand until she reached the patch. She lay down gingerly, folding her head over her paws. Sui pushed Taxue\u2019s stiff hind legs under her and massaged her hindquarters. Her fingers sank through fur to the wasted flesh beneath, running over jutting bone.<\/p>\n<p>Yun peeked through the door. \u201cThe patriarch wants to see you,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLet him wait.\u201d Sui dug the heels of her palms into stiff muscles, rolling them.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe third prince is here. They\u2019re discussing your future, in case you didn\u2019t care.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThey let you overhear the news, so that you might rush here to anger me with it,\u201d Sui said, stroking further up Taxue\u2019s back as the Zheng rumbled contentedly. \u201cWhy give them that kind of pleasure? If Father dares to marry me off against my will, I dare to leave this family against his. The border will take me back\u2014with or without a family name. We\u2019ll see who suffers more in the end.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Yun exhaled. She squatted on the threshold of the courtyard with a groan. \u201cI envy you so much.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t. The life we\u2019ve lived for the past few years cannot be more different.\u201d As Yun groaned again, Sui said, \u201cDon\u2019t worry. I\u2019m not the only person who wouldn\u2019t want this marriage to go through. The other princes wouldn\u2019t want the third princess to be someone too troublesome.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Sui massaged Taxue to sleep by the time the third servant came to urge her attendance. She brushed herself off and strolled to the central courtyard with Yun on her heels. Seated in the audience hall under rosewood and gilded pillars were her father and a stranger in a purple robe, adorned with a four-clawed dragon. Sui eyed her father critically. Age had eroded the rest of his resemblance to her, turning his face craggy, his eyes cruel. She smiled. This would make things easier.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cKneel, you unfilial girl,\u201d the Patriarch commanded. \u201cYou\u2019re in the presence of the third prince!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t see a prince here, only a troublemaker,\u201d Sui said.<\/p>\n<p>The third prince reddened. Behind him, his guards set their hands on their swords. \u201cYou <i>dare<\/i>.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSurely only a troublemaker would think it prudent to annoy the Sword Saint with something as crude as a forced marriage,\u201d Sui said, walking over to the closest pillar. \u201cSurely only the ignorant would think something like filial piety and social graces matter to someone who spent the last twenty years of their lives knee-deep in demons.\u201d She braced her fist and punched the pillar, piercing through it in a strike that shook the dust from the beams above her. Looking the prince in the eye, Sui said, \u201cAre you a prince or a troublemaker?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>A guard stepped forward. Sui raised a palm. \u201cDraw that sword and you all die.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSui!\u201d her father gasped. \u201cThis would put our whole clan to death!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cPerhaps you should have considered that when you dared to plot against me,\u201d Sui said, withdrawing her fist from the pillar. \u201cIt\u2019s never good to be greedy.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Her father flushed. \u201cYou\u2019re past your prime. Soon you\u2019ll grow too old for the battlefield, and as a woman you\u2019d be unlikely to be promoted. The imperial court has never bestowed a rank on you, even with your achievements. I\u2019m trying to prepare for your retirement.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDon\u2019t pretend that you\u2019re doing this for my sake.\u201d Sui looked back at the prince. \u201cWell? Will we all die here today, or will a troublemaker leave?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The prince fled. Her father cursed at her but left under her steady stare. As the hall grew deserted, Yun said, \u201cAgain I\u2019m envious.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDon\u2019t be.\u201d Sui handed her a folded letter from her sleeves. \u201cIf you survive the coming weeks, go to the border. With this, you\u2019d be welcome there.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Yun all but snatched the letter away, then smiled awkwardly to cover her haste. \u201cI thought you said I had no talent for martial arts.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s not all you need to survive on the border. As you no doubt already understand, clever child.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Yun started to speak, but chose silence. She bowed slightly as a warrior would to a compatriot, hands clasped before her. Sui offered no advice, and Yun asked for none. She would be fine.<\/p>\n<p class=\"center\">\u2022\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u2022<\/p>\n<p>Alin woke, coughing in wrenching gasps as she choked on the blood in her lungs. Sui grasped her hand tightly, kneeling by the cot. \u201cDon\u2019t speak. Save your strength.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLiar,\u201d Alin whispered, managing a bloody grin. \u201cI\u2019m on my last legs and we both know it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe E-Mei sect has a Divine Panacea. I\u2019ll ride out and get it\u2014wait for me.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnd you\u2019d what, rob a sect for it? Those things might not work anyway. If they did, surely all these powerful sects would live forever. Besides, life and death are predestined,\u201d Alin said. She paused. \u201cOr that\u2019s what I\u2019ve heard from the monks. Personally\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. I think it\u2019s all lies.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMaybe.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou should leave. Apply to retire. You\u2019re not getting any younger. Besides, what even is the point?\u201d Alin made a bitter, raspy laugh. \u201cDo you know why Zheng riders don\u2019t get promoted?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWe don\u2019t usually live all that long.\u201d Zheng riders were the vanguard of the cavalry.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWrong. It\u2019s because the difference between a spiritual beast and a demonic one is arbitrary. What we think of as \u2018spiritual beasts\u2019 are merely mythical creatures limited by a master-servant contract. \u2018Demonic\u2019 is their true nature. They heal faster, live longer. Hungry all the time, which is why they keep attacking the border.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Sui stared at her friend\u2019s face. \u201cWhat happened to Heiyun?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHe was dying,\u201d Alin whispered, closing her eyes, \u201cso I released him from his contract.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAlin! Won\u2019t that kill him outright from the backlash of the spell?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNot if you do it properly.\u201d Alin beckoned Sui closer, whispering into her ear. Sui jerked back. She took a closer look at Alin\u2019s wounds, which ran as great gashes over her chest and belly. Wounds that looked inflicted by a giant cat.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhy?\u201d Sui asked.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m tired.\u201d Alin turned her face away. \u201cSomeday, you\u2019ll understand.\u201d<\/p>\n<p class=\"center\">\u2022\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u2022<\/p>\n<p>Taxue slept longer, ate less. Sui ran a palm over the knobbly arch of Taxue\u2019s spine, now pressing into her fur. She brushed Taxue down, teasing out tangled mats. A week ago, Sui moved them to a remote property at the foot of a mountain, a tea farm that the family owned. She\u2019d given the staff the day off.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t know what you\u2019re planning on doing,\u201d Yun said, \u201cbut I hope it\u2019s not what I\u2019m thinking.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m not that far gone,\u201d Sui said. The comb caught on a thick mat, and she bent for scissors.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAs long as I won\u2019t be leaving for the border with news of your death or something.\u201d Yun peered closer.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t die that easily.\u201d Sui flicked Yun\u2019s forehead. \u201cGo home. The city\u2019s curfew will start in an hour.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Yun hesitated. The child had decent instincts\u2014perhaps that was how she\u2019d survived this long with her mouth. \u201cWill I see you again?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Sui flicked her a second time. \u201cDon\u2019t curse me, you little brat.\u201d Yun stuck her tongue out at Sui and left, with a couple of reluctant gazes back over her shoulder.<\/p>\n<p>Alone, Taxue wearily raised her head, looking at Sui with her cloudy eyes. She huffed as Sui pried open her jaws, pressing her arm lightly over Taxue\u2019s tongue. Taxue grumbled, trying to twist free, but Sui held her firm until she stopped struggling. \u201cDon\u2019t protest,\u201d Sui told her. \u201cThis is what we both deserve.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Taxue blinked slowly as her jaws tightened. Sui kissed the top of Taxue\u2019s wet nose and tickled under her chin with her spare hand, waiting for the bite.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Sui grunted as she straightened her back, digging her shoulder up into Taxue\u2019s belly. The Zheng\u2019s hind legs dragged awkwardly on the sand, trembling as the paws knuckled, the sudden weight on Sui pushing the knee she\u2019d braced into the dirt. Sui braced her palms up under the Zheng\u2019s hind legs, feeling for the distended sac of her bladder, swollen larger than Sui\u2019s head overnight. Muscles bulged over arms used to drawing heavy longbows as she compressed it. For a heartbeat, nothing happened.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":27149,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[19,5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-36689","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fantasy","category-fiction","section-fantasy","status_flag-original"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v28.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Long Goodbyes - Lightspeed Magazine<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/fiction\/long-goodbyes\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Long Goodbyes - Lightspeed Magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Sui grunted as she straightened her back, digging her shoulder up into Taxue\u2019s belly. The Zheng\u2019s hind legs dragged awkwardly on the sand, trembling as the paws knuckled, the sudden weight on Sui pushing the knee she\u2019d braced into the dirt. Sui braced her palms up under the Zheng\u2019s hind legs, feeling for the distended sac of her bladder, swollen larger than Sui\u2019s head overnight. Muscles bulged over arms used to drawing heavy longbows as she compressed it. For a heartbeat, nothing happened.\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/fiction\/long-goodbyes\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Lightspeed Magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-09-10T10:02:52+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2026-09-15T16:50:55+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/LS-default-embed-graphic.png\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"1024\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"576\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/png\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Leigh DeRouen\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/fiction\\\/long-goodbyes\\\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/fiction\\\/long-goodbyes\\\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Leigh DeRouen\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c9239086e47db7180090b8afd674bdf0\"},\"headline\":\"Long Goodbyes\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-10T10:02:52+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-15T16:50:55+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/fiction\\\/long-goodbyes\\\/\"},\"wordCount\":3678,\"commentCount\":0,\"articleSection\":[\"Fantasy\",\"Fiction\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"CommentAction\",\"name\":\"Comment\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/fiction\\\/long-goodbyes\\\/#respond\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/fiction\\\/long-goodbyes\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/fiction\\\/long-goodbyes\\\/\",\"name\":\"Long Goodbyes - Lightspeed Magazine\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/#website\"},\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-10T10:02:52+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-15T16:50:55+00:00\",\"author\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c9239086e47db7180090b8afd674bdf0\"},\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/fiction\\\/long-goodbyes\\\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/fiction\\\/long-goodbyes\\\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/fiction\\\/long-goodbyes\\\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Long Goodbyes\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/\",\"name\":\"Lightspeed Magazine\",\"description\":\"Science Fiction &amp; Fantasy\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c9239086e47db7180090b8afd674bdf0\",\"name\":\"Leigh DeRouen\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/d5bca77101579330d774784a5a32ee74eaebf1865a74c0ffdccd2f8b0d3bd641?s=96&d=monsterid&r=pg\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/d5bca77101579330d774784a5a32ee74eaebf1865a74c0ffdccd2f8b0d3bd641?s=96&d=monsterid&r=pg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/d5bca77101579330d774784a5a32ee74eaebf1865a74c0ffdccd2f8b0d3bd641?s=96&d=monsterid&r=pg\",\"caption\":\"Leigh DeRouen\"},\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/author\\\/leighadamantpress-com\\\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Long Goodbyes - Lightspeed Magazine","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/fiction\/long-goodbyes\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Long Goodbyes - Lightspeed Magazine","og_description":"Sui grunted as she straightened her back, digging her shoulder up into Taxue\u2019s belly. 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Dj\u00e8l\u00ed Clark\u200b, Ken Liu, Hugh Howey, Seanan McGuire, Rebecca Roanhorse, Veronica Roth, Jeff Vandermeer, and more. The campaign \u200bends \u200bOctober 15\u200b, so back now!<\/strong><\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<p>They didn\u2019t want either of us to live this long. Sucks for them\u2014we\u2019re good at living in spite. We\u2019re good at surviving, at fighting, at never stopping.<\/p>\n<p>Today is the last day we exist in spite of Command, but it\u2019s also just another day that ends in <i>y<\/i>. Most pilots are paired with a seasoned mentor. Not us. No, powerful men at Command threw us in the pit of a Moth to fight their pointless space war. They don\u2019t care about queer people like us. We aren\u2019t real people to Command. A lot of people aren\u2019t real people to Command. But to the Moth? Well. Moths prefer change.<\/p>\n<p>The Moth\u2019s chitin plating stretches taut over metal bones; the giant robot\u2019s skeleton, wings tucked around itself like a fucked up blanket.<\/p>\n<p>Its bones are our bones, sharp and stubborn. The two of us in the pit, dead center of the Moth\u2019s chest. Me, on the right. Petrichor, on the left. Viscous quills of hollow cartilage connect to metal conduit ports grafted to our spines. They trail from our backs and delicately thread into the biomechanical heart we fuel. In turn, it pumps us full of a bonding fluid, purple and sickly sweet. Clamps lock to our feet and arms. The pit floods. We welcome drowning in it, our blood and Moth blood combining and shifting until we connect and we pilot and we belong.<\/p>\n<p><i>Cielo, Cielo, Cielo<\/i>.<\/p>\n<p>Her thoughts sing-song in time with the pit\u2019s rhythmic synchronization. Heartbeat and song entwine until we\u2019re one. I smile, despite the gravity of the situation.<\/p>\n<p><i>Petrichor, Petrichor<\/i>.<\/p>\n<p>The Moth lurches up the ramp. There\u2019s no comms beyond our personal link, no support. We know our orders: Kill enemy Moths. Over and over until we\u2019re either killed in combat or the Moth fully shifts us. And after that? I guess we\u2019ll find out.<\/p>\n<p>The names on the launch display aren\u2019t ours. I hate them. They\u2019re names of men who never existed\u2014only our call signs are true. Cielo and Petrichor and Moth One.<\/p>\n<p>There were other Moth Ones before us, but they\u2019re gone. There will be other Moth Ones after us. We aren\u2019t special. We aren\u2019t anyone\u2019s hero. We\u2019re just here.<\/p>\n<p><i>This is our last launch<\/i>, we tell our Moth. Petrichor\u2019s voice and mine in unison.<\/p>\n<p>I imagine Moth One understands.<\/p>\n<p>There\u2019s only one thing on the launch display I care about: the timer. It gets lower and lower. Now it reads 120 seconds.<\/p>\n<p>Without warning, we\u2019re jettisoned into the fight.<\/p>\n<p>Command is at war\u2014maybe with a rival corporation, maybe with another Command. Who knows? They never say. What they <i>do<\/i> say? The enemy is a scourge, the ads hiss. They\u2019re evil, our handlers whisper. They\u2019re not right, the promos intone. I never know if they\u2019re talking about Petrichor and me or the enemies; it\u2019s all the same phrasing.<\/p>\n<p>We rip our bonesword out of our arm and cut through an enemy Moth, bisecting it cleanly. Purple fluid floats into space, trivial splotches of dark purple\u2014<i>magenta<\/i>, Petrichor\u2019s thoughts refine, always with a more precise definition.<\/p>\n<p>In the melded Moth consciousness, we look at each other. Here we aren\u2019t wearing helmets. Here we are our truest selves. Petrichor\u2019s eyes are an iridescent swirl, pupils almost catlike now. My body pushes against my suit, yearning to break free. We both feel it\u2014the intense urge to rip it all away and simply be what we are, what we\u2019ve been all along underneath.<\/p>\n<p>We dash from enemy to enemy, wings extended. We kill and kill and kill. Blue and red bits of chitin and bone drift all around us. We\u2019re panting, trying desperately to catch our breath when the timer runs out.<\/p>\n<p>Afterward, Petrichor is still, but I sense her soul-deep relief and exhaustion. We linger in it for one, blissful moment.<\/p>\n<p>Command issues the Moth termination sequence.<\/p>\n<p>Moth One shudders, then slumps forward, adrift. We see only darkness, hear only silence, but we can still feel each other. There\u2019s no comms, and no way for us to speak. But that\u2019s okay. <i>I love you<\/i>, I think to her. <i>I\u2019m never leaving you. We\u2019ll just drift. We\u2019ll be okay. We\u2019ll\u2014<\/i><\/p>\n<p>The chest wall shrieks from impact and curls inward like flower petals opening with the dawn. Light pours in. Giant claws stop inches from my helmet. They pull our chest away and we scream. Space does the rest. The force rips Petrichor from her locks\u2014thank fuck the emergency declamp works even without power.<\/p>\n<p>The enemy\u2014seemingly content with our plum or magenta or whatever-the-fuck color blood\u2014flies away to fight other Moths in the distance. Through the mangled Moth they look like twinkling stars. But I don\u2019t give a fuck about the battle. No, I\u2019m screaming her name until my voice breaks, scanning my field of vision for her body, a body part\u2014<i>something<\/i>.<\/p>\n<p>My skin ripples and shudders. It hurts, it itches. I want to be free of it at last. The chitin growing underneath shoves through. The skin flakes off it like a snake shedding its scales.<\/p>\n<p>No\u2014like a moth shoving free of its chrysalis.<\/p>\n<p>At the thought, Moth One twitches.<\/p>\n<p>The rest of the transformation is agony and ecstasy, a shoving and an embrace, a jump into an unknown that sing-songs my name the way Petrichor does. Any hint of red in the blood dripping from the seams of my old shell shift into a deep, beautiful plum. My scream is changed, flanged, lighter. It\u2019s an exhale, a release, a joy, a terror.<\/p>\n<p>My new body pushes out of my suit. I don\u2019t die\u2014moths were meant for space. Moth One writhes, trying to break free.<\/p>\n<p>It wants to help. It wants to be changed, too. I sync with it alone. I let it help.<\/p>\n<p>The strain nearly kills me before I can comprehend my new awareness. Moths are meant for two pilots, and it\u2019s scared for Petrichor. I\u2019ve never felt its emotions\u2014or knew they existed so completely before now.<\/p>\n<p>With a final <i>snap<\/i>, the last human components controlling it break. The Moth\u2019s wings extend at the same time insect-like wings erupt from my shoulder blades. It burns, but I don\u2019t care about anything but Petrichor.<\/p>\n<p>With the Moth\u2019s vision and scanners, I find her easily. She drifts in a field of magenta and purple. Her helmet is broken, her suit torn around her, replaced only by chitin. She moves and waves her arms at me.<\/p>\n<p>The movement must be too much. The enemy veers back around, trajectory on target for Petrichor\u2019s tiny blip.<\/p>\n<p>Absolutely fucking not.<\/p>\n<p>The Moth bursts forward.<\/p>\n<p>Piloting alone is a death wish, that\u2019s what they say. The effort is too great for one person. But I\u2019m not entirely human anymore, so fuck it. It\u2019ll be worth it to keep Petrichor alive. She deserves that much, after everything.<\/p>\n<p>Maybe it\u2019s the punctured-but-still-functioning Moth visage charging towards them, but the enemy stops, bearing witness as I cup Petrichor in my hands. She looks up at me and Moth One and laughs.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>They didn\u2019t want either of us to live this long. Sucks for them\u2014we\u2019re good at living in spite. We\u2019re good at surviving, at fighting, at never stopping. Today is the last day we exist in spite of Command, but it\u2019s also just another day that ends in <i>y<\/i>. Most pilots are paired with a seasoned mentor. Not us. No, powerful men at Command threw us in the pit of a Moth to fight their pointless space war.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":27149,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[5,220,18],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-36677","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-flash-fiction","category-science-fiction","section-science-fiction","status_flag-original"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v28.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>The Chrysalis of Moth One - Lightspeed Magazine<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/fiction\/the-chrysalis-of-moth-one\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Chrysalis of Moth One - Lightspeed Magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"They didn\u2019t want either of us to live this long. Sucks for them\u2014we\u2019re good at living in spite. We\u2019re good at surviving, at fighting, at never stopping. Today is the last day we exist in spite of Command, but it\u2019s also just another day that ends in y. Most pilots are paired with a seasoned mentor. Not us. 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Can you tell us about what inspired you to write this story?<\/p>\n<p>It was during an AI &amp; Creativity Conference at Stanford that I first heard about Sam Altman\u2019s truly horrifying next endeavor called World Coin. If you haven\u2019t heard of this particular dystopia, it involves an eye-scanning orb that\u2019s being sent to many third world countries to scan the retinas of those who volunteer. In turn they get world-coin credits, basically a new kind of cryptocurrency that will be based on eye-scans, and a horrific way to monetize and create a global surveillance network for the tech overlords. Between this monstrosity and the other horrors being wrought by the nefarious broligarchs who wish to use humans as cash cows and guinea pigs (see Musk, Zuckerberg, Bezos, etc.) I began feeling an incredible amount of heartbreak and hopelessness about the state of the world.<\/p>\n<p>Meanwhile, everyone and their grandmas were rushing open-armed into AI, though it\u2019s rapidly destroying our remaining drinking water and putting millions of people out of jobs. It was with this sense of Kafkaesque frustration that I dove into the world of \u201cDreamweavers\u201d where data centers have turned the world into a dustbowl and all that\u2019s left is the evolving digital dreams of tech barons who want to splice humans with machines. In the story, we\u2019ve become beholden to them as they move toward their ultimate dream: transcending the physical body so to upload our consciousness to the digital platforms they control.<\/p>\n<p>Much of the story was unformed as I began writing, I followed the themes of totalitarian tech for the emotional core of the story. However, the original seed of \u201cDreamweavers\u201d started nearly seven years ago. I was flying over LA on a red-eye and looked out the window at the wild sprawling lights of the city below. I\u2019d just woken from strange dreams, and I wrote the sentence, \u201cGood people who shaved their beards and could be found hawking micro-dreams; lost souls who became circuit-board connoisseurs; vein-wired baristas serving lab-grown charcuterie beneath rooftop bistros.\u201d It was a strange, wily voice and I didn\u2019t yet know what to do with it, but I sensed there was a story there\u2014about how we\u2019ve lost people to the city of lights and electricity, about needing to venture into the heart of the beast to save them\u2014which is a metaphor for this digital dystopia we\u2019ve created.<\/p>\n<p class=\"question\">Do you hope your story will rally people into action?<\/p>\n<p>I\u2019m always hoping my work will help remind us of the need to fight for a more just, ecological world that belongs not to capitalist (and nihilist) overlords, but to us\u2014the people. My hope is that we might begin taking hammers to our phones and step away from the digital heroin we\u2019re all mainlining. I think it\u2019s up to us to unhook our kids\u2014or maybe it\u2019ll be our kids who will unhook us. I\u2019ve heard evidence of this happening, that the youngest generation are sick with social media and the need to upload everything and are beginning to move offline while we simultaneously race toward the AI apocalypse.<\/p>\n<p>My feeling is that we\u2019ve been seduced into a digitally transactional economy wherein we\u2019re posting our private lives constantly. Basically, we\u2019re becoming an Only Fans culture\u2014some are selling themselves through porn, others are hoping to gain followers through yoga poses, new-age folks are promising to teach us how to live our juiciest lives, and still others are simply unboxing stuff for views. This isn\u2019t the way humans thrive nor how we build community\u2014it\u2019s the way we destroy it. So I have a great hope that my stories can be part of a larger collective movement toward awakening from this particularly Orwellian future to rekindle our communal ancestry.<\/p>\n<p class=\"question\">The importance of sustaining hope plays a large part in this story. What are some ways you personally keep hope for a better future alive?<\/p>\n<p>Without hope I couldn\u2019t write, and in many ways most of my fiction deals with the need for hope and the reminder that we\u2019re all together in this thing called life. There are far too many people out there who have forgotten that we share this Earth together. They\u2019re busy fighting over borders and starting wars and trying to make money by selling people out and robbing the commons. On top of that you\u2019ve got the rise of fascism with yahoos wrapped in American flags with Replacement Theory paranoia, Christian White Nationalists holding Turning Point rallies where they rebrand the Salem Witch trials\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. I could go on and on\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. I mean, we all know things are bonkers right now and very, very dark. So we need hope. I sure need hope.<\/p>\n<p>My hope is that we will come together to solve the world\u2019s biggest problems. For some reason, we find endless money for war, corruption, and disempowering the most vulnerable, but when it comes to lifting everyone up\u2014that\u2019s considered socialism. Billionaires like Musk and Bezos could become benevolent benefactors, instead they launch dildo-shaped rockets into space and eviscerate USAID. There\u2019s blood on their hands, and I hope these narcissistic maniacs will awaken to the suffering they\u2019ve caused and use the rest of their lives and fortunes to alleviate the deep harm they\u2019ve wrought.<\/p>\n<p>As for me, one of the things I\u2019m really invested in is creating nurturing spaces where we reconnect with one another creatively. I founded The Martha\u2019s Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing (mvicw.com) seventeen years ago, and every summer I\u2019m awed by the way we work together to create a community rooted in love and compassion. The transformation that happens when we support one another is magical and it\u2019s the ground from which we can begin a much larger transformation.<\/p>\n<p class=\"question\">How do you think we can all stay in touch with our humanity in this increasingly technological age?<\/p>\n<p>The most immediate thing we can do is disconnect. Stop scrolling on Instagram\u2014in fact, just delete Instagram and Meta apps, take LinkedIn with it, and Snapchat and on and on and on. Reinstall landlines. Turn the computers off and reengage with our children, our partners, and our family and friends. In many ways this is the hidden theme\/metaphor beneath \u201cThe Dreamweavers.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>We can also create spaces that aren\u2019t based in rapacious capitalism. We can create collectives in our hometowns where we come together to exchange ideas and contribute what we have as offerings. We can bring back the gift economy. For example, donating an hour of yoga every week as an offering, or an hour of therapy; if you\u2019re a writing teacher a free workshop in the community; if you\u2019re a farmer\u2014a bushel of produce, and so on. We can move away from exploiting our talents to create Instagram reels where we siphon money away from friends, family, and strangers. We can turn away from the influencers. We can be in service instead. We can support indigenous communities. We can take part in healing ceremonies, explore grounded, healthy uses of psychotropics and plant medicines. We can care for nature, cultivate fruit trees, and create a community orchard like what Ross Gay has been part of in Bloomington, Indiana. We can stop giving our money to Amazon, Target, Walmart, and corporations, and reinvest in one another, and our lives that we\u2019ve given away so cheaply.<\/p>\n<p class=\"question\">Is there a project you are currently working on? And if not are there any themes, objects, or news that might be tickling your fingers?<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDreamweavers\u201d is part of my new collection, <i>Transcendence<\/i>, which is currently on submission. I\u2019ve finished my first novel, <i>The New King<\/i>, which is a post-apocalyptic <i>Huckleberry Finn<\/i> with a twelve-year-old boy who\u2019s heading to New Orleans to face off with a malevolent self-appointed king that\u2019s created a city of bacchanal violence. My first screenplay, <i>Autobiography<\/i>, recently sold to A24 and begins filming summer of 2026\u2014so that\u2019s immensely exciting. And then I\u2019ve been exploring writing a musical with the incredibly talented musician, The Philharmonik. So, I\u2019ve been branching out across genres and projects which has been deeply joyful.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>It was during an AI &amp; Creativity Conference at Stanford that I first heard about Sam Altman\u2019s truly horrifying next endeavor called World Coin. If you haven\u2019t heard of this particular dystopia, it involves an eye-scanning orb that\u2019s being sent to many third world countries to scan the retinas of those who volunteer. In turn they get world-coin credits, basically a new kind of cryptocurrency that will be based on eye-scans, and a horrific way to monetize and create a global surveillance network for the tech overlords.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":27149,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[20,6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-36722","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-author-spotlight","category-nonfiction","section-author-spotlights"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v28.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Author Spotlight: Alexander Weinstein - Lightspeed Magazine<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/?p=36722\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Author Spotlight: Alexander Weinstein - Lightspeed Magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"It was during an AI &amp; Creativity Conference at Stanford that I first heard about Sam Altman\u2019s truly horrifying next endeavor called World Coin. If you haven\u2019t heard of this particular dystopia, it involves an eye-scanning orb that\u2019s being sent to many third world countries to scan the retinas of those who volunteer. 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Fantasy","potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c9239086e47db7180090b8afd674bdf0","name":"Leigh DeRouen","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/d5bca77101579330d774784a5a32ee74eaebf1865a74c0ffdccd2f8b0d3bd641?s=96&d=monsterid&r=pg","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/d5bca77101579330d774784a5a32ee74eaebf1865a74c0ffdccd2f8b0d3bd641?s=96&d=monsterid&r=pg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/d5bca77101579330d774784a5a32ee74eaebf1865a74c0ffdccd2f8b0d3bd641?s=96&d=monsterid&r=pg","caption":"Leigh DeRouen"},"url":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/author\/leighadamantpress-com\/"}]}},"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/36722","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/27149"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=36722"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/36722\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":36725,"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/36722\/revisions\/36725"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=36722"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=36722"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=36722"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":36754,"date":"2026-09-03T03:01:39","date_gmt":"2026-09-03T10:01:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/?p=36754"},"modified":"2026-09-15T09:51:12","modified_gmt":"2026-09-15T16:51:12","slug":"dreamweavers","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/fiction\/dreamweavers\/","title":{"rendered":"Dreamweavers"},"content":{"rendered":"<hr \/>\n<p class=\"no-indent-no-line-above\"><strong>ANNOUNCEMENT: \u200bWe&#8217;re currently running our first Kickstarter campaign in more than a decade, to fund Year 17 of <em>Lightspeed<\/em> and Year 15 of <em>Nightmare<\/em>. \u200bVisit <a class=\"keeptag\" href=\"http:\/\/lightspeedmagazine.com\/kickstarter\">lightspeedmagazine.com\/kickstarter<\/a> \u200bto check it out. \u200bFunding the campaign will bring all-new stories to <em>Lightspeed<\/em> from the likes of Charlie Jane Anders, Travis Baldree, Olivie Blake, P. Dj\u00e8l\u00ed Clark\u200b, Ken Liu, Hugh Howey, Seanan McGuire, Rebecca Roanhorse, Veronica Roth, Jeff Vandermeer, and more. The campaign \u200bends \u200bOctober 15\u200b, so back now!<\/strong><\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<p>In The Before Days, Tim was a fellow fabricator of dreams. He made a good living frequenting rooftop parties amid aging tech bros in fur-clad vests where mangosteen juices were mixed and silent discos reverberated within guests\u2019 inner ears. As the dustbowl spread across the continent, even Reza himself was rumored to have purchased one of Tim\u2019s dreamscapes\u2014a particularly beautiful worldbuild of plummeting waterfalls and Tahitian escorts that kept Reza ensconced behind his retinas for days\u2014after which Tim was invited to more exclusive barricaded enclaves of the super-rich, all who wanted private downloads to their next digital escape.<\/p>\n<p>I wasn\u2019t anywhere as good as Tim\u2014hadn\u2019t climbed the ladder to sell boutique-level dreams to movie stars or tech barons. I worked for a travel company, resurrecting drowned Venice behind the eyes of those who\u2019d never see the city again. I sold vacations to people who didn\u2019t leave their bedrooms, weaving Barcelona, Rome, and the French Riviera into existence after heatwaves left the real streets filled with the dead. By then, the electric grids had begun to crash, fracking spit gas from faucets, and water was scarce in half our states. It was the last good years of the planet, though we didn\u2019t know it then, a time when delivery trucks still slinked along roads like dying millipedes, spitting boxes of survival supplies to anyone with enough funds to secure a purchase.<\/p>\n<p>I\u2019d witnessed a few of Tim\u2019s early dreams, recognized his genius before he became famous, and I\u2019d reached out as a fellow programmer of consciousness. We became hypernet friends, then met in person to talk about projects we were working on and reminisce over drinks about the old days when we carried screens in our pockets rather than spliced into our eyes. We shared a wistfulness for gardening; he\u2019d begun collecting seeds since they\u2019d been privatized, and he invited me to see the project he was working on.<\/p>\n<p>I arrived to the Lower East Side on a hot June day and found an abandoned parking lot, Tim bare-chested and sweaty, swinging a sledgehammer over his head and bringing it down on a patch of blacktop.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat you doing?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n<p>Tim set the hammer on his shoulder and walked to the opening in the fence. \u201cGot some black-market seeds I want to try. Come give me a hand.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The city buzzed with daylight, the pavement radiating heat. Tim crouched and put his fingers beneath the broken asphalt. I took the other side, and we hefted it to the fence where a pile of rubble sat. He held out the sledgehammer. \u201cWanna give it a shot?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Truth was, I did. It\u2019d been decades since I\u2019d done anything more physical than programming dreams or running for a train. I put my hands around the wood and raised it above my head, my body shaking from impact as another piece cracked off.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSee,\u201d Tim said, \u201cwe\u2019ll have a garden here by summer\u2019s end.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>We cleared about ten yards by evening, the dirt below near sparkling with its earthiness. Tim got us beer from the deli across the street, and we sat against the fence drinking. The clouds were orange with the glow of night, and Tim pulled an envelope from his pocket, showed me small flecks of white the size of confetti. \u201cStarters,\u201d he said and handed me the tomato seeds.<\/p>\n<p>What I try to remind myself is that before Tim attained Dreamweaving fame, before he abandoned the garden we built together, before the droughts and earth rips and fires, before we became Seeders and made our way across what was left of this dead land, and before he disappeared into the glowing New City with its billionaires and digital dim sum bars, he was my friend.<\/p>\n<p>At least, I like to think friendship was the reason he messaged me, years after he\u2019d become famous. By then, it was impossible not to see that the architects of flesh and wire would take everything from us. They\u2019d turned earth into monocrops, had stolen water from the sky and life from the soil until all that was left were the borders of our skin. Then they used their labs to take what was inside. Cardiovascular systems of infomercials, vein networks of content-streaming, tongues electric with pop music, eyes blinking viral clips of thonged women lounging on the world\u2019s most pristine beaches. They made monstrosities from flesh and machine and abandoned their nightmares in our growing wastelands: Armadillos slinking across forgotten roads with bulging circuits, cow hearts in the engines of creeper-crawlers whose bones were etched with VIN numbers as they hacked oil and limped across our highways. Tim had visited a biotech lab outside Zion and wanted to talk.<\/p>\n<p>There was no sledgehammer when I saw him, just a mojito in his hand, and we shared cocktails on a Manhattan rooftop, watching waves swallow the edges of the city. Coney Island was gone, the top of its Ferris wheel peeking from the sea, and Brooklyn was flooding.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou know we\u2019re culpable, right?\u201d Tim said and sipped his drink.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cFor what?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThis destruction.\u201d He motioned to the encroaching sea and the streets below, where masked officers herded people into unmarked vans. \u201cThe protesters are right. This city might be flooding, but the rest of the country\u2019s becoming a desert. And those vans and goons? Paid for by the very same company that employs us. They\u2019re building their New City out there in Cali, I\u2019ve seen it, a digital dreamworld to house the rich with two hundred thousand workers to help them grow. I\u2019m getting out.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOut of what?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He pointed to his retinals. \u201cThese eyes, New York, the fucking mess we\u2019ve helped create.\u201d He motioned to the vans below. \u201cYou think because we weave for the rich, we\u2019re protected? You should hear how they talk about us. That New City\u2019s an enormous orb like no one\u2019s ever seen, wired up with power from remaining server farms. Dreamweavers like us are going to be shipped out to Cali to be locked in and controlled by the overlords.\u201d Tim leaned forward. \u201cI know a few people who can get us out. Techs who\u2019ll remove implants and thread us back to human. There are places we can survive in the forgotten lands if you\u2019re willing to leave.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I knew Tim was right, what was coming was horrific. I\u2019d seen photos of the orb being built out in California, but I convinced myself that their PR was true\u2014they were creating a last refuge for us; they wanted to be saviors as our cities dried up and our farmland became inhospitable; they wouldn\u2019t let us all die. But a gnawing doubt had been simmering for years. It was like when I was in college and tech went beneath our skin. How I told myself that yes, it was invasive, and sure, there were reports of infections, of eye-screen malfunctions, but this was the cost of progress. We would dream better futures now, communicate more easily, be eternally connected with the digital world that was giving us our best lives. Besides, Dreamweaving was the only way to make a living and I was about to graduate with honors. I clawed my way into the industry and was clinging to the small bit of security I\u2019d managed to gain after a decade in the business. <i>Can you blame me for trying to survive<\/i>, became my mantra. And maybe the answer should\u2019ve been yes.<\/p>\n<p>So, what could I say when my hero told me to run?<\/p>\n<p>I laughed, told him, <i>Come on, you\u2019re being paranoid<\/i>, took an e-cab home, passing the dark vans and their victims, thinking mostly about the hopelessness that\u2019d plagued me for decades. What do you do with a despair that leaves you wanting to scream when water turns flammable and billionaires steal aquifers to irrigate their private farmlands? I suppose you do what I did: Develop a cynicism so deep it keeps you from crying. And when protestors climbed fences to get to the gardens of the ultrarich, when seeds became privatized, when martial law was declared and people got shot, I shrugged my shoulders and said, <i>People need to follow the law<\/i>. When land became brittle as dried snakeskin, I said, <i>What do you expect from progress?<\/i> When clouds disappeared and falling ash left second-degree burns, I laughed and told colleagues, <i>Another day in paradise<\/i>. I held tight to Dreamweaving, and at parties said <i>people need a way to enjoy themselves through hard times<\/i> while I stuffed down an anguish so thick it felt like I was choking. All the while, I ignored photos of my nieces who\u2019d grown so emaciated my sister started posting fundraisers on my eyescreens, until one day they were gone, my sister and nieces dead in Tucson from bad water, and I never mourned, never truly considered everything I was losing, had already lost, until the afternoon I returned home from drinks with Tim and found myself screaming like I\u2019d heard others scream in distant apartments, because the world was dying with everyone with it.<\/p>\n<p>That\u2019s why I called Tim back, told him yes, I was in. <i>Get me out of this fucking place<\/i>, I said. <i>Get me out, get me out, get me out<\/i>.<\/p>\n<p class=\"center\">\u2022\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u2022<\/p>\n<p>Tim saved me from certain death, of this there\u2019s no doubt. He had his techs remove the screens from my eyes, pulled vein wiring from beneath my skin, and sewed me back to whole. We made our way to Vermont where we lived for a winter among off-gridders who had timber, a wood-burning stove, and a cellar of root veggies. You could survive in the forgotten lands okay once you\u2019d dug up the wiring, disconnected routers, and toppled surveillance towers that fell like giant pines, but the drones could still find you. They landed on branches and spread their wings, calling Cleaning Crews to come arrest off-gridders like us. So, we stole a ride on the back of a convoy-puller, hid under its tarp-covered flatbed alongside harvested apples and pears, and jumped off near Mesa Verde, where we hitched a ride with a group of survivors.<\/p>\n<p>An old woman who used to teach Pilates drove our van of nomads, crusty-lipped and dirt-caked, listening to a weathered iPod as she gazed at the canyonlands. Said she knew some Feeders running a potato farm outside Iowa City, and Tim and I spent that season digging dirt and loading convoy-pullers full of Russets to truck across the blasted lands to The New City. The farm was an approved settlement, producing sun-cultivated produce for the elite, which made it safe to squat for a while. Outside of approved settlements there were only rapture preppers armed to the teeth with semiautomatics. They maintained fortified gardens and private militia, shooting Seeders who came seeking food or water. Tim and I were happy enough on that potato farm until it went belly-up from dust storms, so we hitched a ride with another crew who\u2019d heard of a place in Napa that produced vintage bottles for The City.<\/p>\n<p>The withering vineyard was on the outskirts of civilization before the highway got chunky and The City\u2019s lights glowed over the low hills. The winery had a patio where the owner served small plates of the kinds of things people still had a hankering for: Marinated olives that weren\u2019t lab grown, flatbread pizzas. Tech barons would come and pay insane prices for vintage bottles, all of them eye-screened and ear-budded, drinking Merlot while scanning the drylands for Seeders like us snake-hunting for sustenance.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSure, you can work here seasonally,\u201d the vintner grunted, though he didn\u2019t expect his vineyard to last another year. \u201cWater\u2019s running out. Go ahead and leave your gas guzzler in the desert. Don\u2019t need this looking like a Seeder sanctuary.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>We did\u2014hesitantly\u2014though the math was simple. What\u2019d we have? A gas guzzler, a couple milk jugs of boiled water, dwindling rations. What\u2019d the vintner have? A roof, work, food, water, and actual grapes, plump and luscious, growing in bunches on the vines.<\/p>\n<p>It was mellow on the farm that spring. The vintner treated us well enough, and we trimmed grapes and made sure the irrigation system worked. We drank jug wine beneath moonlight and watched the purple glow of the metropolis\u2019s aurora over the hills. But by harvesting season, production was down, water turning to a trickle in the pipes, and the number of bottles were withering like the grapes. The City was an octopus harvesting what was left from the soil, and when its tentacles sucked up all the water, our well dried up. We had a few barrels stockpiled alongside the house, enough to last the season, and we picked the remaining grapes, but when the vines dried out, the owner told us we were welcome to stay on the farm if we wanted, or ride with him to The City on the next convoy. \u201cI\u2019ll leave you the canned food in the cupboard if you\u2019re staying,\u201d he said, which was generous. We gazed at the horizon with its neon aura sizzling against the night sky and decided to stay.<\/p>\n<p>That\u2019s how Tim and I ended up walking the rows of desiccated vines trading Marley lyrics during the year of dustbowls and The Great Migration. By then all the grocery stores were gone along with their rows of spotted apples, packages of sickly, yellow-skinned chicken, oranges pockmarked like planets beneath the flickering lights. Tim and I were refugees among a crew of survivors, and we knew we were descendants of traitors who\u2019d once built fabricated dreams, forfeited arable land for dust bowls, and traded hope for The New City\u2019s sick light. We ate the raisins that were left on the vines, and when sparrows tried to steal any, we plucked their feathers and roasted their small bodies over the flames.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWe\u2019re doomed here,\u201d Tim said as we sat around the fire cooking the birds. \u201cI\u2019ll go to The City and snag some seeds.\u201dA sack of unpatented seeds were like flecks of gold\u2014squash, peppers, and tomatoes, the stuff of dreams\u2014but what about water, I asked.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWe\u2019ve only got a couple barrels left,\u201d Sunshine confirmed. \u201cWhat use are seeds without rain?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGuatemala\u2019s still got rain,\u201d Tim said, and we wanted to believe him. We\u2019d all heard the rumors\u2014of places where Seeders like us could start a new life. Fields of solar panels in Ecuador that hadn\u2019t been seized, countries where survivors had taken back control. It sounded too good to be true. \u201cI\u2019m telling you, there\u2019s water to be found down there. They\u2019ll welcome us if we\u2019re carrying seeds,\u201d Tim promised.<\/p>\n<p>Daryll, who\u2019d escaped the Worker Mines that stretched beneath The New City\u2019s metropolis, agreed with Tim\u2019s plan but said he\u2019d never step a foot close to that monstrous orb ever again. Said there was no hope trying to survive The City. \u201cNothing but sleep pens and fumes beneath that city. I climbed over bodies, crawled up airshafts, chewed my way through plastic fencing to sip air again, and I got these in return.\u201d He lifted his shirt to show the scars of bullet wounds that rose like quarters along his side. He\u2019d arrived with a folded-up napkin of squash seeds he\u2019d managed to steal. Said the seeds were legit, but we could all see the small markings that translated to <i>Monsanto<\/i>. Poor guy was Jack and the beanstalk without the magic. We\u2019d tried soaking them to see if they\u2019d sprout, but they only sparked and fizzled.<\/p>\n<p>So, we agreed to let Tim set off for The City and infiltrate its spinning streets, where at the heart of the metropolis, enclosed like the smallest Matryoshka doll, was an heirloom seedbank. Tim said he knew a grower who\u2019d produced top shelf bud for micro-dispensaries, a guy who\u2019d since been hired by The City\u2019s billionaire consortium to breed technostrains of sativa whose smoke connected the consciousness of the rich to the hypernet. \u201cHe\u2019ll make introductions. I\u2019ll get the seeds, be back in a week. Then we head out,\u201d Tim promised.<\/p>\n<p>And I should\u2019ve heard the hunger beneath his voice then, should\u2019ve guessed how easily he\u2019d become ensnared. I was the one who\u2019d listened to him catalogue everything he missed\u2014pomegranates, milkshakes, nightclubs, pills and powders of pleasure\u2014but we were hungry and Tim promised hope. And if there was anyone capable of befriending the architects of flesh and wire to score seeds amid the holographically facelifted, Tim was our man. He\u2019d gotten us dreaming about geodesic domes and Central American solar farms, of raising crops in black soil rather than cracked desert, of green futures and deep blue lakes, so we let him go, and just as quickly, he disappeared.<\/p>\n<p class=\"center\">\u2022\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u2022<\/p>\n<p>Shortly after Tim left, a swarm of stinger-drones arrived at the vineyard, leaving welts of pop-song blisters along our arms. \u201cDon\u2019t scratch them,\u201d Sunshine warned, cause she\u2019d torn a hole on one of her bites and a baby-girl timbre leaked from her wounds, the chorus of <i>Do Me Now, Do Me Quick<\/i> echoing as we slept.<\/p>\n<p>We were miserable, and it\u2019d been a week since Tim left. There were no sacks of seeds, just the glowing city on the horizon and our dwindling water supply. We needed the haul Tim promised, but the only trace of him was a messenger pigeon that landed on the desiccated grapevines and opened its mechanical beak to speak two words in his voice. <i>Save me<\/i>, the pigeon said and spit out a scanner-band for The Great Casino. We took the band, then plucked the pigeon\u2019s feathers and roasted the fleshy parts over the fire, knowing we were headed into the interlocking labyrinth of The City to bring our lost brother home.<\/p>\n<p>To get into The City meant we had to kill a creeper-crawler. Sharma and I found an enormous beast coughing engine oil and chewing loose asphalt as it wandered the highway\u2019s rumble strip like a lost cow. Its headlights gazed outward, its chrome exterior catching the sunlight, and I felt bad about killing it. Not that the beast would be missed\u2014those things chew up green fields and shit out biofuel, ruining topsoil for decades\u2014but, still, it was a living creature. We surprised this one while it was chomping on a stop sign. Sharma aimed her two-thousand-volt stun gun at its head, and it let out a moan before it dropped its fender to the ground. Riley attached wheel locks to keep it from bolting, and I popped open its enormous cavity, accessed the dashboard, and powered it down.<\/p>\n<p>It was an ugly scene on the abandoned interstate as we disemboweled the creeper, its wires splayed across the asphalt. We attached our rope and hauled it back to the barn where Sonny started butchering in earnest, replacing its brain with a hybrid engine that he lowered into its hood, yanking out the surveillance system while Sharma wired up enough discarded tech to make it acceptable for the three of us. Showing up in a gas guzzler was sure to mark you as a Seeder destined for the Worker Mines, but our camouflaged creeper-crawler drove well enough and passed as a regular vehicle to get us into The City.<\/p>\n<p>Tom\u00e1s, Sharma, and I volunteered as the reconnaissance crew, and we passed over the low hills until the great orb of The New City rose on the horizon, its steel sides reflecting the cloudless sky. We all had the same reaction when we saw it, an intake of air that was part-awe, part-terror. To witness that metal orb so large it felt like a planet of its own was to have a dim recollection of a place called Epcot Center, though this was no amusement park, just a silver-sided foreboding sphere large as the sun itself with a stream of creeper-crawlers and a couple gas guzzlers flowing through its tunneled opening. Here were desperate families ready to exchange freedom for food, people dreaming of better lives though most knew they\u2019d end up below where floors upon floors of eye-screened workers grew lab meats and brewed digital liquids for electronic teahouses and boba shops. <i>WELCOME ALL<\/i>, the sign above the entrance beamed in bright phosphorescence, and we passed through the tunnel to arrive amid the continually shifting streets of The City.<\/p>\n<p>The New City was the most advanced algorithm ever built. A codex of high-rises with a rotating sphere of interlocking districts, an eternally spinning cylinder with shifting grids of restaurants, hologram halls, AR saloons, android massage parlors, cigar lounges, and crystal caf\u00e9s. The architects\u2019 dream was to have The City be a labyrinth of quicksilver and glass where new arrivals could get lost like Narcissus. Every few hours the machinery turned and a district went sliding upward as another descended. Boroughs receded deeper into the labyrinth while new districts bloomed with celebrities dining al fresco on machine-printed branzino. The algorithm constantly refreshed itself to keep everyone\u2019s attention on new content: A dream emporium, a fiberoptic hookah bar, synth dealers, dream producers, implant doctors who replaced people\u2019s faces with lab-grown fetal tissue and injected veins with thousand-dollar serums until you could stream concentrated data with every blink. Another implant emporium emerged from the spinning city, another tower of naked androids, another dream dealer willing to slice open the folds of your brain and let their data find the ports of gray matter while the poor were swept downward by the digital tides.<\/p>\n<p>We\u2019d lost far too many to this city. Good people who\u2019d surrendered their beliefs and could now be found hawking micro-dreams; lost souls who became circuit-board connoisseurs; vein-wired chefs serving lab-grown charcuterie beneath rooftop bistros. Half a year ago we lost Jackie who said she missed the nightlife and ended up neurotagged at Club Morrocco. A common story for any citizens who\u2019d survived here. They all thought they could dip in for a taste, then they were gone. The few who succeeded grew fat with age, bragging about frontal-lobe golfing to 3-D printed wives who gossip in emoji-speak and worry about the price of solar-fed steak.<\/p>\n<p>We decided Sharma would trawl the franchise district for surgical supplies and antiseptic, Tom\u00e1s would stay with the creeper-crawler and await our message for extraction, and since I was Tim\u2019s friend, I\u2019d traverse the rat\u2019s nest to The Great Casino where rich men gambled away people\u2019s futures. We had precisely an hour before the metropolis turned again and we were sucked into deeper districts, separated forever. All in all, it seemed like a workable plan, though I\u2019d forgotten how seductive The City\u2019s delights were. I passed scent-dealers at noodle shops and e-girls who offered to thread my veins with ecstasy. There were booths along the avenues encouraging me to revisit the worlds of my childhood\u2014Manhattan before it was swallowed by the sea, Paris before it became a mass grave\u2014and old-world taste-sellers promised me the flavor of chocolate milk, even if was nothing more than tongue-teasing data.<\/p>\n<p>I turned my eyes from the delights and entered The Great Casino where men wagered the lives of laborers. At the roulette wheel, a spinning ball landed in black and children were allocated to a Worker Mine; at a poker table a man laid down his cards and collected half a dozen sweatshops; at a craps table the water rights of a starving township hung on the roll; and there, across the red velvet, lounging by a blackjack table, was Tim in citified regalia, an enhanced jacket of a thousand sequined screens advertising his many dreams.<\/p>\n<p>Tim didn\u2019t make eye contact when I sidled up next to him, merely leaned in to say, \u201cCall me Tim and I\u2019ll thread your veins with malware. Follow me and we\u2019ll talk.\u201d He led me past morphing-faced women and the men who owned them to a bank of shining elevator doors, each with their own pneumatic tubes from which men entered or emerged with e-girls on their arms. Tim scanned his wrist and the doors of a far tube opened, its elevator rocketing us high above the gaming floor into layers of steel and glass.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cTim, what happened? We had a plan.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019ve updated the plan,\u201d he said, his eyes shining while the machinery within him hummed. The elevator doors opened to marble floors, digital waterfalls, and a dozen lounging e-girls. \u201cNo eyes,\u201d Tim winked, and the women dissolved into pixels. He led me across the room onto a patio suspended above the city. We were one of a thousand terraces circling the great dome. Far below, City Dwellers traversed the streets, while high above at the peak of the circular city, The Seed Bank hung suspended like a space-age peach pit.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGod,\u201d I said. \u201cThere must be enough seeds in there to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cReplant the entire world. In case things don\u2019t go as planned.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I thought of the children in the backs of migrant trucks, the emaciated corpses littering abandoned malls, the shallow graves where white bones rose like flags of surrender. Far across from where we stood, the districts were beginning to shift.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHow long until that reaches us?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDon\u2019t worry, you\u2019re safe. The casino and penthouses move together. We\u2019ll be spun elsewhere, deeper inside. There are parks in there, paths for walking, the best gelato you\u2019ve ever tasted.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cTim, we\u2019ve got to go.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI thought you asked me to find seeds?\u201d He led me inside, through a marble living room with stone vases of orchids and into a bedroom larger than the apartment where I once lived. Then he opened his wardrobe, parted the suits to reveal a scanner vault, and let his eyes deliver the code. The doors opened to an air-cooled chamber of glass canisters filled with seeds of broccoli, butternut squash, heirloom tomatoes\u2014enough to feed an entire civilization.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThis is my stash. Every Dreamweaver collects them. Insurance in case things go bad, worthless if you don\u2019t plant them. A rich man\u2019s game really.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou stole these for us?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, you don\u2019t need mine. You\u2019ll get your own.\u201d He shut the vault and dug into his jacket for a contact case. \u201cTake a look at my latest work, you\u2019ll be impressed.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I knew it was too seductive to have the digital so close to my body again, but I couldn\u2019t help myself. I placed the two opaque screens in my eyes and Tim pulled up the sleeve of his jacket to access the controls beneath his skin. Suddenly his penthouse was gone, replaced by Venice with its extinct gondolas, a villa, and a starry night stretching beyond its windows.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cRecognize your work?\u201d he asked. \u201cSampled and upgraded with new modifications.\u201d He scrolled again and the universe splintered into districts with inhabitants buried within his Venice: Workers in line for blood orange cocktails, couples in private bubbles of joy nestling beneath sheets, everyone enjoying themselves as they sank deeper into his layers of electronic soma.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOnce we wove destinations for temporary gazers,\u201d he said. \u201cNow users live in virtual destinations. Digital restaurants, romantic relationships; endless dreamgirls. We\u2019ve become multidimensional, brother. We\u2019re dreaming across limitless planes of marketable awareness, an expansion of inner cities across every user\u2019s interface. How many levels of subconsciousness does a mind contain? Who knows, but we\u2019re weaving infinite dreams.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cJesus,\u201d I whispered. \u201cBut you said you didn\u2019t want\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAre you kidding? Of course I want it. Spend a week in this city and you\u2019ll understand how the creators think. We\u2019re extensions of the algorithm that\u2019s been working through us for decades. Once it was in our devices, now it\u2019s in us. We\u2019re building incredible futures, we\u2019ll live in virtual cities, our bodies limitless.\u201d A sudden whir of machinery clicked on inside Tim, a dull whine of hyperconnectivity. I took the contacts from my eyes and handed them to him.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWe don\u2019t have time, Tim, The City\u2019s turning. We\u2019re going to lose the others\u2014the Seeders, the farm\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThere\u2019s no future out there,\u201d he said as we returned to the living room. \u201cThe final change is here; we\u2019re rewiring the body. I\u2019ve replaced my veins with lightning cable, upgraded my heart with the world\u2019s most powerful\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat do you mean upgraded your heart?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m a new being, fully automated. What little\u2019s left that once was Tim is retrograde.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cTim, what\u2019d they do with your organs?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cRecycled them, put them in the chest of a creeper-crawler, who cares? That city out there with its shifting districts, this table, those stone vases, they\u2019re the last vestiges of the physical world, and we\u2019re transcending it all. The material world caused the destruction, so did our appetites for finite resources. All that will be satiated in the new worlds I\u2019m creating. People respect me. They need me. I\u2019m helping beta-test the future, and I can get you in.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat about Guatemala?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s finished. Algorithm Emperors are franchising consciousness, and the rest of humanity, the ones who can\u2019t program, they\u2019ll become nothing more than harvestable organs. Meanwhile, I\u2019m eating digital caviar. Come on, brother, you don\u2019t have to be in that group. You can weave your way to indescribable luxury, bountiful e-girls, whatever your mind can conjure.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnd the Seeders?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThey\u2019re dead. This how you save yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I saw it then\u2014the horrible vision Tim was weaving\u2014an Earth where there was no more soil, no rains, only cracked land and a dozen spheres scattered across the globe with their own layers of digital nothingness. I saw the Seeders at the vineyard rotting like grapes, and I understood Tim was trying to save me again. The future wasn\u2019t at all what I expected\u2014no seedbank cracked open or fruitful bounty to plant across the hemisphere, no prospect of green paradises, no revolution\u2014only this place where life still existed.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCome, I\u2019ll introduce you to a conglomerator. He\u2019ll get you programming dreams as a starting point, arrange for your surgeries, get your physical transformation started.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I wasn\u2019t sure if I was choosing well. If maybe, rather than saving my friend, I was dooming us all to destruction. All I knew was when Tim turned, I followed.<\/p>\n<p>The stone vase was heavy as I brought it down on the back of Tim\u2019s head, bashing his skull again and again until I heard the crack of the machinery below. Then I dragged him to the wardrobe, tented his eyes open, and watched as the vault slid open.<\/p>\n<p class=\"center\">\u2022\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u2022<\/p>\n<p>I\u2019d imagined I was done with sorrow, that tears were as much of an anachronism as hope, but I couldn\u2019t keep from crying as the metropolis faded into a pale glow behind us. No red and blue lights flashed in our rearview, no flocks of feather-drones on our tail, just our creeper-crawler making its way back to the vineyard. <i>He wouldn\u2019t leave<\/i>, was all I told Sharma and Tom\u00e1s. And I knew we\u2019d abandon the farm in the morning and head toward the border. Because if we were ever to have a future, our salvation resided in planting Tim\u2019s seeds far from the deserted States of America, past Baja and peyote country to where rain fell and trees rose high. If there was hope to be found, it was in returning this cycle to something like it once was.<\/p>\n<p>Maybe I was a fool. Maybe I was a traitor. Maybe I should\u2019ve accepted Tim\u2019s way out. Or maybe I was listening to a wire-thin feeling threading its way through me; a dream that one day we\u2019d find a way to recover. A future where I\u2019d look at our crops and the rich black soil of our land and recall with horror that once upon a time, we almost let the monsters win. They were called innovators. They were called billionaires. They were called Dreamweavers, back when we believed the architects of technology were our heroes. There\u2019s no excuse for what we did; no rationalizing to justify the destruction we created. We were stark raving mad, we were sick, we did awful things, I did awful things, but maybe, one day, I can say we got better.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>In The Before Days, Tim was a fellow procurer of dreams. He made a good living frequenting rooftop parties amid aging tech bros in fur-clad vests where mangosteen juices were mixed and silent discos reverberated within guests\u2019 inner ears. As the dustbowl spread across the continent, even Reza himself was rumored to have purchased one of Tim\u2019s dreamscapes\u2014a particularly beautiful worldbuild of plummeting waterfalls and Tahitian escorts that kept Reza ensconced behind his retinas for days\u2014after which Tim was invited to more exclusive barricaded enclaves of the super-rich, all who wanted private downloads to their next digital escape.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":27149,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[5,18],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-36754","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-science-fiction","section-science-fiction","status_flag-original"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v28.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Dreamweavers - Lightspeed Magazine<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/fiction\/dreamweavers\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Dreamweavers - Lightspeed Magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"In The Before Days, Tim was a fellow procurer of dreams. He made a good living frequenting rooftop parties amid aging tech bros in fur-clad vests where mangosteen juices were mixed and silent discos reverberated within guests\u2019 inner ears. As the dustbowl spread across the continent, even Reza himself was rumored to have purchased one of Tim\u2019s dreamscapes\u2014a particularly beautiful worldbuild of plummeting waterfalls and Tahitian escorts that kept Reza ensconced behind his retinas for days\u2014after which Tim was invited to more exclusive barricaded enclaves of the super-rich, all who wanted private downloads to their next digital escape.\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/fiction\/dreamweavers\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Lightspeed Magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-09-03T10:01:39+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2026-09-15T16:51:12+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/LS-default-embed-graphic.png\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"1024\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"576\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/png\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Leigh DeRouen\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/fiction\\\/dreamweavers\\\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/fiction\\\/dreamweavers\\\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Leigh DeRouen\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c9239086e47db7180090b8afd674bdf0\"},\"headline\":\"Dreamweavers\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-03T10:01:39+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-15T16:51:12+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/fiction\\\/dreamweavers\\\/\"},\"wordCount\":5583,\"commentCount\":0,\"articleSection\":[\"Fiction\",\"Science Fiction\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"CommentAction\",\"name\":\"Comment\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/fiction\\\/dreamweavers\\\/#respond\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/fiction\\\/dreamweavers\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/fiction\\\/dreamweavers\\\/\",\"name\":\"Dreamweavers - Lightspeed Magazine\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/#website\"},\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-03T10:01:39+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-15T16:51:12+00:00\",\"author\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c9239086e47db7180090b8afd674bdf0\"},\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/fiction\\\/dreamweavers\\\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/fiction\\\/dreamweavers\\\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/fiction\\\/dreamweavers\\\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Dreamweavers\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/\",\"name\":\"Lightspeed Magazine\",\"description\":\"Science Fiction &amp; 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He made a good living frequenting rooftop parties amid aging tech bros in fur-clad vests where mangosteen juices were mixed and silent discos reverberated within guests\u2019 inner ears. 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Dj\u00e8l\u00ed Clark\u200b, Ken Liu, Hugh Howey, Seanan McGuire, Rebecca Roanhorse, Veronica Roth, Jeff Vandermeer, and more. The campaign \u200bends \u200bOctober 15\u200b, so back now!<\/strong><\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<ol>\n<li>If every effort to bring down your child\u2019s fever is unsuccessful and the doctors cannot diagnose anything wrong with her, then you should seek other means to alleviate her health. Before you help her into the house, if you notice that her shadow refuses to follow her body, then you should know that her sickness is numinous, and it is beyond what science can cure or fathom.<\/li>\n<li>Carefully search for the places your wife used to keep her things hidden. Before now, you have never been bothered about why she is secretive about certain things. But now that she has passed, you feel like she went to the grave with a secret that is somehow linked to the ailment of your daughter.<\/li>\n<li>Check her wardrobe; this is certainly where you will find what you are looking for: a wooden box, inside which is a letter on a piece of parchment. Inside the same box is a red stone talisman. Your heart pounds and sweat begins to slide down your face as you see this and start to think your wife is a witch. But she is not. The letter tells you in great detail that your child was a granted wish by the Deity of Many Faces. Your child\u2019s illness is not a sickness; it\u2019s a reminder that she is a borrowed blessing. A vow was made. Every fifth year it must be renewed, and you are now three months late in doing so. A failure to do so will result in the deity calling back the gift. Now, you must embark upon a journey.<\/li>\n<li>Now that you have accepted that you must go on this journey and you have read the instructions your wife wrote down, keep watch for the cues that will tell you the best time to leave. Within three nights of reading the letter, you must stay up past the witching hour to receive instructions explaining how to proceed.\n<ol type=\"a\">\n<li>A tawny owl will perch on your window and knock against the pane until dawn. It will leave behind some of its feathers. Pick these up, bind them together, and keep them safe.<\/li>\n<li>Your neighbor\u2019s Rottweiler will bark when the gibbous moon appears in the night sky. Listen closely to its bark, as in it will be instructions that only you can hear.<\/li>\n<li>Come out of your house when the cathedral bell down the road tolls. A messenger of the Deity of Many Faces will hand you a beaded trinket.<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n<\/li>\n<li>You are now prepared for your journey. Keep the owl\u2019s feathers, the trinket, the red stone talisman, and the smooth wooden doll that you have kept beneath your pillow since her passing. The doll has the tuft of your late wife\u2019s hair braided in it. The obstacles your wife faced during her own journey are no longer a threat\u2014the red stone talisman will protect you from those same dangers she already faced.<\/li>\n<li>As you travel the road, before long you will see the owl again flying west. Follow it. You will find a village that does not appear on modern maps. The natives there do not speak any language you understand. They are adherents of the old ways, and they worship the Deity of Many Faces. Memories are the only currency they understand. You will be directed to an old woman who instructs you to make your payment inside a gourd. If you fail to do this, you will be unable to find your way back to the main road. The old woman will ask you to carefully decide which of your memories you are giving. Choose carefully. The more precious a memory is, the easier your road will be to travel.<\/li>\n<li>When you come across Baba Ibeji, the old ferryman who accepts stories as payment, don\u2019t be frightened. He\u2019s the one your wife was referring to in the letter you read. In the moment when you stand before Baba Ibeji and he awaits payment before ferrying you across the river, you wonder why your wife went this far for a child. You are baffled at how your wife had soiled her hands in ways that you find repugnant. Don\u2019t blame her. When a woman who desperately wants a child has been childless for ten years, it is understandable that she might be driven to take drastic measures. But before you tell your tale to Baba Ibeji, take note that the stories you share must be true and not fictional. And if Baba Ibeji suspects arrogance or selfishness in your story, he will return you back to shore until you are ready to offer a story untainted by such. Clear your mind and tell a tale to the ferryman. Tell him about your wife. How loving she was. The first time you met her. How she quickly won your heart.<\/li>\n<li>You are now halfway through your journey. Cross to the other side of the bridge where the wind always blows toward yesterday. Here, you will hear voices. Be warned to avoid the lies of witches\u2019 familiars who can read your mind and seek to divert you from your quest.<\/li>\n<li>If you find yourself in a place where time shifts strangely and the weather cycles continuously from one season to the next, it means you didn\u2019t offer a sufficiently significant memory as payment to the old woman. If so, you only have yourself to blame. You may see a younger version of yourself running ahead; don\u2019t chase after him. The wind will blow stronger. From the whirlwind of sand and dust rising from the ground, your wife will call to you. She will reach out her hand, beckoning for you to come with her to the other side. Do not capitulate to this call, however tempting. The other side is for those who no longer belong in the mortal world; you must remember your daughter, who\u2019s counting on you. This place feeds on regrets and pains. You must starve it. When the wind is calm, head straight forward to the iroko tree you see ahead of you. Present the owl\u2019s feathers. You will be granted access to a secret passageway that will lead you to a market of promises.<\/li>\n<li>In the market of promises, you are expected to trade away items in return for one connected to your wife\u2019s vow. Your wife failed to inform you that she had once traded a game of ayo for a woven basket filled with dreams, one of which is for your daughter to become a medical doctor. The basket was dropped at the feet of the Deity of Many Faces as one of the payments for vow renewal. Though you consider the beaded bibelot a gaudy bauble, at the market of promises you can trade it for a clay pot full of moringa seeds, which signifies good health and long life.<\/li>\n<li>You are now about to enter into the temple where you will meet the deity and renew your vow. Remember, the moringa seeds you are offering to renew your wife\u2019s vow isn\u2019t enough to settle her debt because the payment is already three months overdue. If your heart is full of anger and fear, you must empty it of these negative emotions. Note that you can choose to continue in the vow your wife made or make a fresh vow. Before accepting to continue your wife\u2019s vow or choosing your own, weigh your options thoroughly before any decision is made.<\/li>\n<li>Place the offering at the stone altar alongside the remnants of anger and other negative emotions which can still be seen on your face. If you have decided to make a new vow, you can choose to offer something like the full name of your daughter, the memory of her first birthday, or a material item that is of high value. You will find the list of acceptable items on the last page of this guide. If you choose to continue settling your wife\u2019s vow, then know that you must learn everything that is a part of it.<\/li>\n<li>You will know your vow has been accepted when you see the Deity of Many Faces appear before you. In a trancelike state, you will see a kudu grazing in a glade; or an elderly man seated on a wooden chair wrapped in a brightly colored Shuka and holding a staff; or a white bald eagle hovering over a river. Any of these three signs are evidence that the Deity of Many Faces has accepted your offering and agreed to your vow.<\/li>\n<li>Your daughter\u2019s health has been restored; you can head back home. But remember: The Deity of Many Faces holds vows and promises sacred, and you must do the same.<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n<p class=\"noindent\">This guide is unique; no other copies exist. For the sake of humanity, guard it with your life.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>If every effort to bring down your child\u2019s fever is unsuccessful and the doctors cannot diagnose anything wrong with her, then you should seek other means to alleviate her health. Before you help her into the house, if you notice that her shadow refuses to follow her body, then you should know that her sickness is numinous, and it is beyond what science can cure or fathom.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":27149,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[19,5,220],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-36686","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fantasy","category-fiction","category-flash-fiction","section-fantasy","status_flag-original"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v28.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>A Guide on How to Repay Your Vow to the Deity of Many Faces - Lightspeed Magazine<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/fiction\/a-guide-on-how-to-repay-your-vow-to-the-deity-of-many-faces\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"A Guide on How to Repay Your Vow to the Deity of Many Faces - Lightspeed Magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"If every effort to bring down your child\u2019s fever is unsuccessful and the doctors cannot diagnose anything wrong with her, then you should seek other means to alleviate her health. 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Our two science fiction flash pieces are: \u201cThe Chrysalis of Moth One\u201d by V.M. Ayala and \u201cMaskwork Saltman Giftbox\u201d by Rich Larson. Our original fantasy offerings are by Anya Ow (\u201cLong Goodbyes\u201d) and Thomas Ha (\u201cJempo\u201d). Our two fantasy flash pieces are: \u201cA Guide on How to Repay Your Vow to the Deity of Many Faces\u201d by Oyedotun Damilola Muees and \u201cThe Dragon, the Scarab, the Wolf, the Dragon\u201d by Rhiannon Rasmussen. We also have our usual assortment of author spotlights, along with book reviews from our review team.<\/p>\n<p class=\"heading3\"><b>Android in the Archives<\/b><\/p>\n<p>ICYMI last month: We\u2019ll be featuring one story per issue from the forthcoming fiction + nonfiction anthology\u00a0<i>Android in the Archives\u00a0<\/i>(lightspeedmagazine.com\/android), which will be published by MIT Press in 2027. Through design activities, panels, symposia and a mountain lodge retreat, the editors and authors collaboratively imagined worlds that interrogate the future humanity is heading towards. The fiction was edited by Sharang Biswas and Liz Gorinsky, which was done in collaboration with academic editor Rebecca Clark, along with project leads Solomon Diamond and Paula Olson, and contributing academic authors Jacqueline Wernimont and Eugene Korsunskiy. The first of the stories was by Max Gladstone, featured in our previous issue; there will be other stories forthcoming from Brooke Bolander, Rob Cameron, Nibedita Sen, K. M. Szpara, Sam J. Miller, Alice Sola Kim, and Andrea Kriz. To see all of the stories published thus far, visit lightspeedmagazine.com\/series\/android-in-the-archives.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Be sure to check out the editorial for a rundown of this month\u2019s content and for all of John Joseph Adams\u2019s media and book recommendations!<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":27149,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[7,6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-36732","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-editorial","category-nonfiction","section-from-the-editor"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v28.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Editorial: September 2026 - Lightspeed Magazine<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/?p=36732\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Editorial: September 2026 - Lightspeed Magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Be sure to check out the editorial for a rundown of this month\u2019s content and for all of John Joseph Adams\u2019s media and book recommendations!\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/?p=36732\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Lightspeed Magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-09-01T10:05:22+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/LS-default-embed-graphic.png\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"1024\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"576\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/png\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Leigh DeRouen\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/?p=36732#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/?p=36732\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Leigh DeRouen\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c9239086e47db7180090b8afd674bdf0\"},\"headline\":\"Editorial: September 2026\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-01T10:05:22+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/?p=36732\"},\"wordCount\":282,\"commentCount\":0,\"articleSection\":[\"Editorials\",\"Nonfiction\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"CommentAction\",\"name\":\"Comment\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/?p=36732#respond\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/?p=36732\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/?p=36732\",\"name\":\"Editorial: September 2026 - Lightspeed Magazine\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/#website\"},\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-01T10:05:22+00:00\",\"author\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c9239086e47db7180090b8afd674bdf0\"},\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/?p=36732#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/?p=36732\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/?p=36732#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Editorial: September 2026\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\\\/\",\"name\":\"Lightspeed Magazine\",\"description\":\"Science Fiction &amp; 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Sign up to be notified when it launches!"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>On September 15, 2026, we&#8217;ll be launching our first Kickstarter campaign in more than a decade, to <a href=\"http:\/\/lightspeedmagazine.com\/kickstarter\">fund Year 17 of <em>Lightspeed<\/em> and Year 15 of <em>Nightmare<\/em><\/a>.<\/p>\n<p>Join us for a year of new short fiction from some of the biggest stars in science fiction, fantasy, and horror, including:<\/p>\n<ul>\n<li><strong>Charlie Jane Anders<\/strong><\/li>\n<li><strong><span class=\"bold\">Travis Baldree<\/span><\/strong><\/li>\n<li><strong><span class=\"bold\">Olivie Blake<\/span><\/strong><\/li>\n<li><strong><span class=\"bold\">P. Dj\u00e8l\u00ed Clark<\/span><\/strong><\/li>\n<li><strong><span class=\"bold\">Tananarive Due<\/span><\/strong><\/li>\n<li><strong><span class=\"bold\">Grady Hendrix<\/span><\/strong><\/li>\n<li><strong><span class=\"bold\">Hugh Howey<\/span><\/strong><\/li>\n<li><strong><span class=\"bold\">Stephen Graham Jones<\/span><\/strong><\/li>\n<li><strong><span class=\"bold\">Ken Liu<\/span><\/strong><\/li>\n<li><strong><span class=\"bold\">Victor LaValle<\/span><\/strong><\/li>\n<li><strong><span class=\"bold\">Seanan McGuire<\/span><\/strong><\/li>\n<li><strong><span class=\"bold\">Silvia Moreno-Garcia<\/span><\/strong><\/li>\n<li><strong>Rebecca Roanhorse<\/strong><\/li>\n<li><strong><span class=\"bold\">Veronica Roth<\/span><\/strong><\/li>\n<li><strong><span class=\"bold\">Paul Tremblay<\/span><\/strong><\/li>\n<li><strong><span class=\"bold\">Jeff VanderMeer<\/span><\/strong><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<p>Plus, we&#8217;ll have a new essay by <strong>Charles Yu<\/strong>, and <strong>John Scalzi <\/strong>is going to write &#8220;something&#8221;\u2014<i>what<\/i> exactly hasn&#8217;t been decided yet, but he promises it will be fun.<\/p>\n<p>Since 2010, <em>Lightspeed<\/em> has been among the world&#8217;s leading publishers of science fiction and fantasy short fiction, showcasing the work of award-winning authors alongside exciting new voices. Since 2012, our sibling magazine, <em>Nightmare<\/em>, has been doing the same for horror short fiction. Between the two magazines, we&#8217;ve published nearly 10 million words of fiction; this campaign will help us bring to life another 450,000 words.<\/p>\n<p>In the past, you&#8217;ve helped us fund our acclaimed &#8220;Destroy&#8221; series of special issues: Women Destroy Science Fiction! (all women staff and contributors), Queers Destroy Science Fiction! (all queer staff and contributors), and People of Colo(u)r Destroy Science Fiction! (all BIPOC staff and contributors). Thanks to your support, those campaigns far exceeded their funding goals and resulted in us publishing companion fantasy and horror volumes as well.<\/p>\n<p>We haven&#8217;t run a Kickstarter since then, but in the wake of major changes to the publishing landscape\u2014especially Amazon&#8217;s Kindle Periodicals program\u2014have made reader support more important than ever. That&#8217;s why we&#8217;re launching this Kickstarter campaign to help ensure the magazines continue to thrive. Think of it as a subscription drive, but bigger and with more rewards.<\/p>\n<p>So go to the campaign&#8217;s pre-launch page (<a href=\"http:\/\/lightspeedmagazine.com\/kickstarter\">lightspeedmagazine.com\/kickstarter<\/a> will redirect you there) then click the <strong>NOTIFY ME ON LAUNCH<\/strong> button to sign up to be notified when the campaign launches, so you can be one of the first in line to show us your support.<\/p>\n<p>Hope to see see you live on Kickstarter on September 15!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>On September 15, 2026, we&#8217;ll be launching our first Kickstarter campaign in more than a decade, to fund Year 17 of Lightspeed and Year 15 of Nightmare. Join us for a year of new short fiction from some of the biggest stars in science fiction, fantasy, and horror, including: Charlie Jane Anders Travis Baldree Olivie [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[7,6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-36766","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-editorial","category-nonfiction","section-from-the-editor"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v28.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Announcement: We&#039;re Launching a New Kickstarter Sept. 15. 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We also have two terrific flash pieces: \u201cThe Chrysalis of Moth One\u201d from V.M. Ayala and \u201cMaskwork Saltman Giftbox\u201d by Rich Larson. Plus, we have original fantasy by Anya Ow (\u201cLong Goodbyes\u201d) and Thomas Ha (\u201cJempo\u201d). We also have a flash story (\u201cA Guide on How to Repay Your Vow to the Deity of Many Faces\u201d) from Oyedotun Damilola Muees, and another (\u201cThe Dragon, the Scarab, the Wolf, the Dragon\u201d) from Rhiannon Rasmussen. All that, and of course we also have our usual assortment of author spotlights, along with book reviews from our terrific review team.","og_url":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/issues\/lightspeed-magazine-issue-196-september-2026\/","og_site_name":"Lightspeed Magazine","article_published_time":"2026-09-01T07:01:02+00:00","article_modified_time":"2026-09-02T04:56:28+00:00","og_image":[{"width":1024,"height":576,"url":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/LS-default-embed-graphic.png","type":"image\/png"}],"author":"Leigh DeRouen","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/issues\/lightspeed-magazine-issue-196-september-2026\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/issues\/lightspeed-magazine-issue-196-september-2026\/"},"author":{"name":"Leigh DeRouen","@id":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c9239086e47db7180090b8afd674bdf0"},"headline":"Lightspeed Magazine, Issue 196 (September 2026)","datePublished":"2026-09-01T07:01:02+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-02T04:56:28+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/issues\/lightspeed-magazine-issue-196-september-2026\/"},"wordCount":4,"commentCount":0,"articleSection":["Issues"],"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"CommentAction","name":"Comment","target":["https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/issues\/lightspeed-magazine-issue-196-september-2026\/#respond"]}]},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/issues\/lightspeed-magazine-issue-196-september-2026\/","url":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/issues\/lightspeed-magazine-issue-196-september-2026\/","name":"Lightspeed Magazine, Issue 196 (September 2026) - Lightspeed Magazine","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/#website"},"datePublished":"2026-09-01T07:01:02+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-02T04:56:28+00:00","author":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c9239086e47db7180090b8afd674bdf0"},"breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/issues\/lightspeed-magazine-issue-196-september-2026\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/issues\/lightspeed-magazine-issue-196-september-2026\/"]}]},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/issues\/lightspeed-magazine-issue-196-september-2026\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"Lightspeed Magazine, Issue 196 (September 2026)"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/#website","url":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/","name":"Lightspeed Magazine","description":"Science Fiction &amp; Fantasy","potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c9239086e47db7180090b8afd674bdf0","name":"Leigh DeRouen","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/d5bca77101579330d774784a5a32ee74eaebf1865a74c0ffdccd2f8b0d3bd641?s=96&d=monsterid&r=pg","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/d5bca77101579330d774784a5a32ee74eaebf1865a74c0ffdccd2f8b0d3bd641?s=96&d=monsterid&r=pg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/d5bca77101579330d774784a5a32ee74eaebf1865a74c0ffdccd2f8b0d3bd641?s=96&d=monsterid&r=pg","caption":"Leigh DeRouen"},"url":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/author\/leighadamantpress-com\/"}]}},"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/36670","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/27149"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=36670"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/36670\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":36870,"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/36670\/revisions\/36870"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=36670"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=36670"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=36670"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":36520,"date":"2026-08-27T03:05:28","date_gmt":"2026-08-27T10:05:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/?p=36520"},"modified":"2026-07-21T16:34:12","modified_gmt":"2026-07-21T23:34:12","slug":"book-review-all-we-have-is-time-by-amy-tordoff","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/nonfiction\/book-review-all-we-have-is-time-by-amy-tordoff\/","title":{"rendered":"Book Review: <i>All We Have Is Time<\/i> by Amy Tordoff"},"content":{"rendered":"<p class=\"center\"><b><i>All We Have Is Time<\/i><\/b><br \/>\nAmy Tordoff<br \/>\nHardcover \/ eBook<br \/>\nISBN: 978-1668068045<br \/>\nAtria Books, July 2026, 352 pgs<\/p>\n<p class=\"center\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.amazon.com\/All-We-Have-Time-Novel\/dp\/1668068044\"><img decoding=\"async\" class=\"remove_epub alignright size-medium wp-image-36521\" src=\"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/AllWeHave-199x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"199\" height=\"300\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/AllWeHave-199x300.jpg 199w, https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/AllWeHave-679x1024.jpg 679w, https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/AllWeHave-768x1159.jpg 768w, https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/AllWeHave-220x332.jpg 220w, https:\/\/www.lightspeedmagazine.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/AllWeHave.jpg 994w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 199px) 100vw, 199px\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p>Greetings, readers, and welcome back to another book review! This month, we\u2019re slowing things down a little and watching the years go by from the perspective of a cursed immortal who doesn\u2019t know what she\u2019s living for, until she meets a time traveler who steals her heart\u2014that\u2019s right, it\u2019s <i>All We Have Is Time<\/i> by Amy Tordoff!<\/p>\n<p><i>All We Have Is Time<\/i> mainly follows the journey of Beatrix Lancourt, a fifteenth-century English peasant who makes a terrible bargain with a fae for everlasting life. Scorned by her family and loved ones, and shunned from her village, Beatrix spends her days barely surviving in the streets of fifteenth-century London, wondering each day if today is the day she finally sells her soul to the faerie in order to end it all. Then, while attending a play at the Globe Theater (yes, the Shakespeare one), she fumbles a pickpocketing attempt against an oblivious noble named Simon, who charms her into a tour of the city. What Beatrix doesn\u2019t realize is that Simon is actually a time traveler from the twenty-third century with a secret of his own. When the two run into each other again one hundred years later, it begins a melancholic romance spanning two continents and seven centuries.<\/p>\n<p>The first thing that really struck me about <i>All We Have Is Time<\/i> was the immaculate pairing of love and grief that steadily flows throughout the book. Beatrix and Simon\u2019s relationship with each other, as well as other secondary characters, is beautifully presented, and there are multiple moments that will leave you with an aching pain in your chest. Tordoff does an amazing job of bringing the characters to life, mainly through a series of vignettes set around notable events of the past (the Frozen Faire in London when the Thames froze over, Carnevale di Venezia, VE-Day, Woodstock, and more). Many of these vignettes also offer brief (yet richly fulfilling) glimpses of Beatrix\u2019s more ephemeral relationships. It reminded me a lot of the video game <i>Lost Odyssey<\/i>, or the novel <i>This Is How You Lose the Time War<\/i>.<\/p>\n<p>The other thing I thought Tordoff did an excellent job of was researching all the little details to make Beatrix\u2019s passage through time convincing. Whether it was the subtle changes in speaking patterns, the attention to clothing choices, or just environmental descriptions of architecture or the type of food available, it felt like the world surrounding Beatrix and Oliver was just as much a part of the story as their passage through it. The combination of all this made the pages fly by in a way only very good writing can accomplish and left me with the sense that I was time traveling myself by being allowed to witness their interactions.<\/p>\n<p>I will caution you as a reader, though, that this is very much <i>not<\/i> a fast-paced action SF story, and it does flip back and forth between Beatrix\u2019s and Oliver\u2019s perspectives pretty regularly once the story gets going (as well as different time periods), so you\u2019ll need to pay attention a bit and be prepared for a more meandering journey. That being said, the perspective and time changes never felt like they pulled me out of the story and actually did a really good job of illustrating the sporadic nature of their relationship and what that meant for its growth. In addition, you\u2019ll probably want to keep some tissues nearby, because there are definitely more than a few tugs at the heartstrings contained within these pages.<\/p>\n<p>Overall, I really enjoyed reading <i>All We Have Is Time<\/i> because at its core, it is a story asking what it means to be human, and whether the prize of love is worth the cost of grief. It is deeply, incredibly empathetic, and I would not be surprised to see it adapted into an HBO-style prestige movie or show at some point, because it really is just exquisitely done. This may not be a summer beach read, but it is for sure worth your time.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>This month, reviewer Chris Kluwe recommends a time-travel tale for fans of <i>This Is How You Lose the Time War<\/i>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":27149,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[145,6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-36520","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-book-reviews","category-nonfiction","section-nonfiction"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v28.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Book Review: All We Have Is Time by Amy Tordoff - 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