James Phillips

Per Ardua Ad Astra

The dying, silent embers of the brazier warded away the numbing chill of the rain’s malice, each drop rendered by the gentle glow of the flames parting the night. That rain was a serenade shared by despairing lost souls as it marred the decaying cobble walls and concrete towers of the city damp, echoing therapeutic sounds through every road and alley. Blurred streetlights caught rivers in the gutters of the cracked tar streets. This winter promised snow, it wouldn’t be long before the other vagabonds would drop like flies in the street succumbing to the unforgiving chill. Astra rubbed his gloved hands together as misty clouds rose from his mouth to meet the cold. His ragged, dust streaked coat barely kept him warm. The only real warmth came from the damp brown beanie, but even that was trivial. Tracks of rain divided his aged, hopeless face. Purple neon lights from the city barely pierced the night. But even in the dark, the Pillar of Ardua’s amber shone like a beacon, drawing the hopeful like moths to a flame. The tower was taller than the rest. It stared back with a knowing sympathetic glare. Launch was just three days away.