View allAll Photos Tagged Finalization
To finalize the National Anthem during the Canada Day opening celebrations, Aerial flight team The Snowbirds did the signature fanning out stunt over the Peace Tower as usual.
This year I was in the right place, but the tall clouds behind me had put a shadow in our area and took all the building light.
Maybe next year I'll grab a really wide lens and get in close.
So...... this is a basic account, eh?
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
"He does not sit upon a throne.
He anchors it.
Archon Seraphael, sovereign of the Luminarch Covenant, speaks not in commands, but in constants. His presence defines the space around him — the flame in his chest a silent sun, the golden visor shielding others from seeing too much truth at once.
Behind him, six wings burn like banners of alignment. Around him, the Hall of Harmonic Judgment listens… and echoes only what is deserved.
He is not justice.
He is what justice remembers."
Track Geometry W001-07 heads west across the bridge still bearing the "Chess-C" symbol of CSX predecessor Chessie System at the west end of Fox siding in Grand Rapids. Patterson Ave used to cross the tracks at grade here, much to the chagrin of motorists who undoubtedly spent many minutes if not hours waiting for stopped CSX and CP trains holding the siding at Fox, either for a meet or a crew change. The bridge was designed in the mid 80's before the merger between Chessie and Seboard System had been finalized, and the designers managed to sneak "Chessie" onto the bridge as a final "F.U." to the Seaboard people who were poised to be in power at the new CSX. It has held up pretty well for being nearly 30 years old.
For whatever reason, this particular Geometry train has been running around with an empty hopper between the engine and cars, spoiling the look of what otherwise looks like a mini Office Car Special.
Interested in purchasing a digital download of this photo? Let me know and I will add it to my Etsy Shop, MittenRailandMarine! Follow this link to see what images are currently listed for sale: www.etsy.com/shop/MittenRailandMarine
If you are interested in specific locomotives or freighters, please contact me. I have been photographing trains and ships for over 15 years and have accumulated an extensive library!
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
A spectral pirate captain stands resolute upon the cursed deck of a ghostly galleon, sailing through a storm-wracked sea under a bright moon. His skeletal visage snarls with otherworldly rage, hollow eyes glowing like molten embers. Adorned in a decayed but once-regal naval coat, gilded with barnacled trim and tarnished epaulettes, he commands the winds and the dead alike. Behind him, towering masts sway beneath flashes of lightning that tear open the blackened sky. The ocean churns with unnatural energy, casting an eerie teal glow that outlines his undead form — a legend doomed to sail forever.
Inspired By:
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by and Reimagined
In the heart of an enchanted forest where bioluminescent flora cast kaleidoscopic light through twilight haze, a young elven sorceress stands locked in a silent bond with her draconic companion. Her eyes shimmer like polished amber, glowing with ancestral fire, framed by elaborate braids woven with gold beads and celestial trinkets. Her cloak, a deep maroon etched with ancient runes, flows like blood-ink through the saturated air.
The dragon she cradles is a radiant marvel — its scales glisten with hues of galactic sapphire and amethyst, refracting nebulae under each pulse of light. Horns curve like obsidian lightning bolts from its sleek skull, while its molten eyes hold the wisdom of stars extinguished long ago. Every ridge, wing fold, and claw is rendered in breathtaking, hyperreal texture — both alien and divine.
Around them, the forest pulses with sorcery: glowing lanterns float mid-air like enchanted will-o'-the-wisps, and fireflies swirl in orbital dances of magenta and gold. The moment captures not merely a portrait, but a prophecy — one of flame, fate, and a bond that defies realms.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
The Black Steamheart, leviathan of iron and fire, looms above the broken chasm docks of Port Nocturne — a skyport suspended on black iron struts over a smoking abyss.
Thunder cracks across a storm-lit sky as the beast exhales smoke from a dozen furnace towers, steam bleeding from vent slits like a mechanical dragon breathing deep. Its hull glows from within — thousands of rivet-lights flickering like the eyes of the damned. Gears grind, chains rattle, cranes scream.
Below it, torch-lit gantries swarm with soot-covered workers and plague-masked engineers, shadows scrambling beneath the machine that owns them. Cranes hoist iron crates stamped with forbidden sigils, and refinery chimneys belch trails of glowing soot into the bruised twilight.
This is not a city. This is a war machine’s cathedral.
The Clean Water Rule, finalized and put into place in 2015, gave important jurisdictional clarity for the Clean Water Act and it’s protection of streams and creeks that are headwaters to larger rivers. Water belongs to everyone, and clean water is a basic right for Americans. We all live downstream from somewhere.
If you reside in the U.S., please consider writing the EPA during the public comment period regarding Docket ID No. EPA-HQ-OW-2017-023-001 which addresses the EPAs intention for the Repeal and Replacement of the 2015 Definition of Waters of the United States, 82 Fed. Reg. 34899 (July 2017), and oppose the initiative to repeal and replace this protective regulation.
Address comments to
The Honorable Scott Pruitt
Administrator
U.S. Environmental Protection Agency
Office of Policy Regulatory Reform
Mail Code 1803A
1200 Pennsylvania Ave NW
Washington DC, 20460
and to
The Honorable Douglas W. Lamont
Senior Official Performing the Duties of the Assistant Secretary of the Army for Civil Works
Office of the Assistant Secretary of the Army for Civil Works
Department of the Army
104 Army Pentagon
Washington, DC 20310-0104
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Forged from centuries of ossified prophecy and sacrificial rites, the Bone Prophet is no mere demon—it is a vessel of forbidden knowledge. Its skull, engraved with golden glyphs of the first language, pulses with a cursed intelligence. Twin ivory horns spiral outward like twisted scripture, while hollow eye sockets blaze with the light of extinguished stars. Clad in thorned bone armor and crowned with ceremonial decay, it whispers the future in a dead tongue, echoing through tombs forgotten by time. Wherever it walks, silence follows—and those who hear its murmurs are never the same again.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
The Throne Series
Beneath a storm-ravaged sky and the crackling fury of violet lightning, she sits — unshaken, unmoving — upon a throne etched with ancestral curses and forgotten bloodlines. The Panther Queen of Thorns reigns not by blade, but by presence alone.
Her eyes are cold fire, framed by cascading black waves of hair and a crown of onyx jewels. She wears a lavish gown of crimson velvet and black silk, threaded with arcane embroidery and cinched with silver bindings that echo both elegance and imprisonment. Her bodice rises like a wall of armor, corseted with dark laces and layered in brooding beauty.
At her feet, two black panthers prowl — feral shadows with glowing amber eyes and snarls sharp enough to silence storms. Their claws dig into ancient stone, their loyalty absolute. They are her vengeance. Her fangs in the dark.
The sky rages behind her, but no thunder is louder than her silence.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspirered by Warhammer 4k
"It was never meant to open. But neither was he meant to fall."
Beneath a sky torn by violet lightning and the burning spires of a forgotten shrine-world, the obsidian-clad Space Marine stands. His helmet — a brutal sculpt of a deathless skull — stares with arcane luminance. Vents hiss. Tubes writhe. Every breath a blasphemy in defiance of the seal.
Marked with the glyphs of the Ninth Edict, he was forged not as a warrior, but as a final warning. And yet, the seal still holds.
For now.
Legion Unknown | Class: Liturgical Vanguard | Designation: Code Nihil-IX
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
In a decaying, candlelit manor lost to time, a lone vampire plays a grand piano beneath tall, arched windows streaked with age and sorrow. Moonlight, filtered through bloodstained glass, bathes the scene in a pale, spectral glow. His aristocratic figure is draped in a regal, black velvet cloak embroidered with faint gold—worn with centuries of grief and dignity. Scarlet rose petals are strewn across the cracked marble floor and atop the piano, their fresh color a striking contrast to the gloom.
The piano, a black monolith of polished wood and shadow, stands solemnly in the center, its keys played by elegant, pale hands that seem to remember every sorrow ever sung. Sheet music rests open before him—Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata—but the notes seem to drift beyond mere sound, becoming a lament for lost lovers and endless nights.
Faint light seeps in through tall windows as the remnants of day surrender to the hush of night. A stone staircase curves upward behind him, vanishing into mist, symbolic of a past no longer reachable. Portraits of long-dead figures stare down from the walls, their painted eyes echoing stories of nobility, decay, and unspoken curses.
The atmosphere is heavy with elegance and despair. Time feels frozen in this melancholic sanctuary where music, blood, and memory intertwine—an eternal performance played only for the moon.
Done in Ai, Finalized In Photoshop
Beneath the shadow of a colossal blood moon, the ancient Sphinx awakens. Set among crumbling columns and the ghostly remnants of what was once the sacred city of Karnak, the Sphinx no longer sleeps in silence. Its stone eyes blaze with supernatural red light, casting a haunting glow across the desert sands.
The sky burns with red mist and rolling clouds, as if torn open by celestial wrath. The Sphinx, once a symbol of riddles and wisdom, now stares forward like a god reborn — its face solemn, commanding, and terrifying. Every detail of its weathered surface seems alive with ancient energy, veins of unknown power pulsing beneath stone skin.
Around it, the ruins of Karnak lie half-consumed in swirling red dust, pillars broken and shadows long. There is no sound, no life — only the presence of something eternal, something watching. The blood moon looms massive in the sky, closer than it should be, bleeding light over sacred ground long forgotten by time but not by the gods.
My new novel:
B♭ (Be Flat)
Dropping more content! 😃
(Still not finalized yet.)
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Scene: Madison Square Garden 2
A low murmur swept down the avenue in front of the Garden as a black lead sedan and a fleet of white motorcycle escorts slowly rolled in. Four armored limousines followed, flanked by NYPD and state police SUVs. Behind them trailed a line of communication trucks, ambulances, and news vans—no more than fifty vehicles in all, but the weight of their presence was overwhelming.
The motorcade moved as if traffic signals held no meaning. The street had been completely shut down, and the convoy advanced in perfect synchrony. Police radio chatter leaked from the vehicles, while the blocked-off sidewalks were crowded with reporters clutching cameras and riot police standing firm. Near the center, three jet-black SUVs carried CAT operatives, their eyes scanning the street like silent sentinels from behind suppressor-equipped rifles.
On top of the limousines, state-of-the-art jamming devices disrupted all outside signals. Trailing them was a “Roadrunner” communications command vehicle bristling with antennas, maintaining real-time encrypted communication with the command center beneath the Garden.
At the tail end were fire department rapid response units, a hazmat vehicle, and two ambulances. The arrival of a presidential candidate was no longer a mere movement—it was a military operation. The city responded like a living neural network, absorbing and adjusting to the convoy’s every move.
Onlookers lined the barricades—civilians raising smartphones overhead, and journalists with grim faces behind their lenses. No one spoke. The crowd stood in solemn silence, bathed in the red and blue pulses of rotating lights, watching as the procession swept past like a scene from a film. But this wasn’t a movie. The silence was real. No one dared crack a joke.
Sniper teams were stationed on rooftops around the Garden. Occasionally, the word “clear” crackled over the comms. Inside the building, only those who had passed facial recognition were permitted to take position. In the chilled surveillance room where Jack sat, hundreds of camera feeds rotated every few seconds across the screens.
Inside the presumed presidential limousine, darkness cloaked everything—no figures visible behind the glass. Yet everyone on-site knew those clear windows hid layers of invisible defense. That silence, designed to preserve life, carried with it a deadly order that blanketed the entire convoy.
Overhead, two Black Hawk helicopters glided in low and began to hover above the Garden. They were escape vessels, should the worst occur—but more than that, they were a reminder that this place was, for tonight, a battlefield.
In the command room on the Garden’s B3 level, Jack sat under the blue glow of the monitors, listening intently to the radio in his ear.
“Eagle has arrived. Parking complete on B3. Zebra point passed. T-minus 45 seconds to approach.”
The voice in his earpiece made him bite his lip unconsciously. The coffee in his cup had long gone cold.
Onscreen, the divided camera feeds displayed the barricades on Seventh Avenue, snipers in standby, and now—the black limousine sliding into the underground garage.
The air tightened. Time became tangible. The tick of the second hand grew louder in everyone’s ears. Jack’s fingers trembled slightly as they reached for the radio button.
Scene: Madison Square Garden 1
Jack shifted the donut box in his hand and pressed the button for B3. The air in the elevator was cold, and he wiped the sweat from his brow as he watched the lights descend. The contrast with the heat above made his vision blur slightly.
Stepping out, he turned right. Immediately on the left was the briefing room door, where a security man in a rumpled suit greeted him.
“Everyone’s already waiting.”
Jack stood before the sensor and calmly turned his face toward it. A few seconds later, a mechanical chime signaled access approval, and the heavy fireproof doors slid open.
Once inside, Jack offered a small smile.
“I brought donuts. Make sure everyone gets some later.”
The security man grinned behind his sunglasses.
Beyond the thick soundproof door, 32 monitors glowed blue in the dim room. Staff members moved briskly and silently between the machines. The hum of servers filled the space, punctuated only by the occasional alert. In the center was the commander’s seat, surrounded in a ring by workstations. The wall-sized screen displayed rapid live cuts from over 400 arena cameras—spectator stands, lobby, corridors, VIP lounge, loading dock, backstage, utility room, underground passages…
If a single rat appeared in those tunnels, they’d be able to track it straight to the sewers.
Jack sat in the commander’s chair and flipped the switch on the gooseneck mic in front of him. Its flexible neck trembled as the red indicator light came on.
“I’ve got donuts. Sorry, no glazed. There’s Boston Cream, Chocolate Frosted, Strawberry Frosted, and Old-Fashioned. No coffee, so grab your own.”
“Old-Fashioned for me,” came Ben’s voice from the loading dock. He adjusted the transparent tube of his earpiece and muttered into his collar.
Jack gave a faint smile, then grew serious again as he leaned toward the mic.
“Eagle is about to arrive. Entering through Ben’s loading dock. Three minutes to VIP room. Fifteen-minute briefing. Then onstage. Let me remind you—tonight marks the official nomination of the presidential candidate at the National Convention. First Republican convention held here in over twenty years. Also, his fiancée, Eleanor Blake, is with him. Stunning and brilliant. Try not to fall for her. The only ones you’re allowed to admire are bulky bruisers in tactical gear. And don’t forget, VP candidate Cole Harrison is here too—he’s the leash on our foul-mouthed Justin. No matter what he says, don’t punch back. I’ll be the one getting punched later.”
Jack checked his watch.
“One minute out. When Justin’s team heads home, dig into the donuts. Over and out.”
From the monitor showing the VIP lounge, Daryl spoke up behind him.
“Jack, better check in with Elijah at the hospital. Make sure he’s on standby.”
Without turning, Jack raised his hand and called out.
“Elijah, you copy? Daryl thinks you’re chilling at Starbucks.”
Laughter came through the speaker, followed by the chaotic background noise of Bellevue Hospital.
“Daryl, how’d you know? I was just thinking of getting Jack fired.”
Swiveling in his chair, Daryl laughed back at the screen.
“Let’s hope Justin doesn’t end up in your ER.”
Jack cut in.
“All stations, go. Justin’s here. Stick to the plan. Let’s move.”
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Scene: Madison Square Garden 3 — Justin, Eleanor, Cole
The door of the limousine opened from within, and Justin Bradford stepped out with a short sigh.
“Damn. It’s suffocating down here. Even a stray dog would turn up its nose at this parking garage.”
He brushed off the hem of his suit jacket with one hand, casting a grimace toward the concrete gloom.
Vice presidential candidate Cole Harrison followed quietly behind. Eight years older than Justin, Cole had once stood by Justin’s father, Lysus Bradford—through every rally and protest, until the day Lysus, still registered as a Democrat, was gunned down by a sniper. Cole had admired Lysus deeply for his commitment to voicing the will of the unheard.
Justin yawned, wide and unfiltered. Cole spoke gently beside him.
“This was the safest option. Too many unknowns outside. It’s dangerous.”
“Cole, you’re the biggest unknown we’ve got.”
“And that makes two of us, Justin,” Cole replied with a small, knowing smile.
The click of white heels echoed faintly as Eleanor Blake stepped onto the stained concrete. She wore a pale beige coat over her dress and moved with quiet elegance. Though her brow creased slightly at the stagnant air, she quickly replaced it with a smile and walked toward Justin.
“Justin,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm, “no more jokes at the staff’s expense. These people would lay down their lives for you.”
Justin gave a small, lopsided smile and brushed a kiss against her cheek.
“For their sake, I better live up to it.”
Flanked by security, the three of them began walking down the dim corridor. Faint LED lights flickered overhead. Dirty walls, cold silence, and a chill that crept under their skin accompanied them.
“These hallways always get to me,” Justin muttered.
“I understand,” Eleanor said softly. “But this is the safest route.”
“That’s exactly why we should be grateful,” Cole added. “It’s this kind of space that protects us.”
Eventually, they reached the elevator reserved for dignitaries. The face recognition system chirped quietly as it confirmed their identities.
“Just a few more steps to the VIP lounge,” said one of the agents.
Justin glanced back at Eleanor and shrugged.
“Let’s shake the Garden tonight.”
She touched his arm lightly and smiled.
“I’m counting on you, Justin.”
The three of them stepped into the elevator, the doors closing quietly behind them as it carried them upward.
Scene: Totto Ramen — Ana, Mika, Motorcade
— Red, Yellow, Blue —
It was just after 7 p.m. when a light rain began to fall on East 52nd Street.
Ana leaned against the wall of an old building next to Totto Ramen, absently watching the changing traffic light at the intersection to her right. The air was heavy with humid heat clinging to the concrete, making even the pedestrians seem to move slower than usual.
The signal turned green. As she dabbed her forehead with a handkerchief and squinted into the distance, she spotted Kana on the far side of the crosswalk, waving and running toward her with a smile.
Then, suddenly, the air shifted.
From the far side of the intersection, a fleet of black SUVs glided in, soundless and ghostlike. In the few dozen seconds between the lead vehicle’s arrival and the armored limousine at the rear disappearing, the entire intersection was sealed off—no one passed.
As the convoy disappeared down the avenue, the signal changed again. Foot traffic resumed. The city inhaled.
Kana reemerged from the crowd and waved once more.
After wrapping up their exhibit, Ana and Mika had packed their gear into Mika’s car and headed into Manhattan. Ana’s husband, Arjun, worked at LuminaTech Innovations—a hybrid company based in Williamsburg specializing in AI, cloud services, and cybersecurity. Though it was his day off, he’d had a meeting in Hudson Yards and was on a separate schedule from Ana.
Totto Ramen was nearby, and ever since Mika had first brought her there, it had become a favorite for Ana and Arjun alike.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. It’s been such a lovely day,” Mika said, slightly out of breath.
By “lovely,” she meant the two sharply dressed men from that morning, still lingering in their thoughts.
Ana answered with mild disinterest.
“Was it? That your type, Mika?”
Mika shrugged and smiled.
“Mm, I like someone close enough that I can run home to my parents if I need to.”
They laughed as they slid open the ramen shop’s wooden door and took seats at the counter. The place was bustling with Asian families enjoying their weekend. Familiar Japanese drifted from the far end of the counter.
Ana’s iPhone buzzed. It was a video call from Arjun.
She tapped the screen. His apologetic face appeared.
“The meeting’s running long. Go ahead and eat without me.”
Ana smiled gently.
“Be careful. A whole swarm of black cars just swept through here.”
Arjun responded immediately.
“They’re probably heading to the Garden. There’s supposed to be a Republican convention tonight. The candidate’s making his appearance.”
Mika, having caught the gist, nodded deeply.
“Yeah, it’s felt weird all day. The city’s tense—not your usual weekend.”
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Scene: Red Hook 1 — Amir and Rafi
Red Hook stood apart, even within Brooklyn.
Shielded by the shadows of skyscrapers, the red-brick warehouses, worn by wind and rain, groaned softly in the breeze. Each gust from the sea layered fresh salt onto the air, leaving streaks of rust blooming along the warehouse doors.
Beyond a broken fence, a long-unused warehouse door creaked open.
Amir stepped inside, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The smell of oil soaked into the concrete filled his nostrils.
“Let’s start here,” he said.
Rafi nodded without a word.
They had first come to this place five winters ago.
Having lost everything in Gaza at the hands of Israel, the two had fled legally through Egypt and Turkey, eventually arriving in Tapachula in southern Mexico. There, they made contact with a smuggler known as a coyote.
Rafi paid $12,000 per person to the traffickers—using cryptocurrency hacked through North Korean channels. The coins had been stolen through a North Korea–linked hacking syndicate. Amir wrote the code himself and erased all trace of the transaction. They had crossed borders not with blood, but with digits.
Later, under cover of night, they slipped beneath a border fence and entered the United States by land.
The night sky over Texas was a shade of dark blue they had never seen before. Low and clear, the deep blue held a fleeting kind of hope. But that hope was far outweighed by the hatred that had taken root in their hearts.
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Set in New York City.
1
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
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Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Saipan. USA. 2016. LUMIX G3 shot … 4 / X
サイパン。アメリカ。２０１６。LUMIX G3 shot … 4 / X
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
さらに投下します。😃
(まだ決定ではありません。)
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場面 マディソンスクエアガーデン２
ガーデン正面の通りがわずかにざわめき、先導の黒いセダンと白バイク隊がゆっくりと進入してきた。次いで装甲に覆われたリムジンが４台つづき、市警と州警のSUVがその脇を固め、後方には通信車両、救急車、そして報道バンの列…… 全部でざっと５０台にも満たないが、その重厚感は圧倒的だった――。
車列は信号すら意味をなさず、完全に遮断された通りを、隊列の呼吸に従って前進していく。警察無線の交信が車外に漏れ、通行止めの歩道にはカメラを構えた記者と機動隊員が混じり合っていた。中腹には「CAT」と呼ばれる武装部隊が乗る漆黒のSUVが３台並び、サプレッサー付きライフルを持った隊員が、まるで車内から通りをスキャンするように視線を動かしている。
リムジンの天井には、最新の妨害電波装置が搭載され、外部通信を一時的に遮断する。さらにその後方を、アンテナが林立した“ロードランナー”と呼ばれる通信司令車が追走し、ガーデン地下の指揮室とリアルタイムで暗号通信を続けている。
車列の最後尾には消防局の緊急対応車、化学物質対応車、そして２台の救急車が控えていた。大統領候補がこの都市に足を踏み入れるというのは、もはや“移動”ではなく、“軍事行動”のようだった。街全体が、ひとつの生きた神経網のように、その動線を受け止めていた。
歩道の柵沿いには、スマートフォンを高く掲げる市民と、顔を強張らせた報道カメラマンたちが入り混じっていた。群衆は押し黙り、ただエンジンのうなりと回転灯の光に照らされながら、目の前を通り過ぎる車列を見守っていた。まるで映画のワンシーンのようだが、空気は静まり返り、誰一人として軽口を叩く者はいない。
ガーデン周辺の屋上には狙撃班が配備され、時折、無線越しに「クリア」の声が交錯した。建物内の全階層には顔認証を通過した要員だけが配置され、冷房の効いたジャックのいる監視室では、数百台のカメラ映像が数秒ごとに切り替わっている。
大統領候補が乗ると目されるリムジンの車内は暗く、ガラス越しに人影すら映らない。だが、その曇りのない窓には、目に見えない幾重もの防御層が仕込まれていることを、現場の誰もが理解していた。命を守るために設計された沈黙と、殺気を孕んだ秩序が、車列全体を覆っている。
背後から、２機のブラックホークが上空をなめるように飛来し、ガーデンの屋上でホバリングを始めた。万が一の脱出手段であり、また、この場が“戦場”であることを暗に示す存在だった。
ジャックは、ガーデン地下三階の指令室で、モニターの青白い光に顔を照らされながら、無線に耳を傾けていた。
「イーグル、地下駐車場レベルB3にて停車完了。ポイント・ゼブラ通過。接近までTマイナス45秒」
耳元のイヤーピースから流れるその声に、彼は無意識に唇を噛んだ。手元のカップに入ったコーヒーは、すでにぬるくなっていた。
モニターには分割されたカメラ映像がずらりと並んでいる。第七通りのバリケード、スタンバイ中の狙撃手、そして今、地下駐車場の入口に黒いリムジンが滑り込む様子が映し出されていた。
空気が一気に張り詰めた。誰もが秒針の音を意識し始め、静寂の中に微かな緊張が走った。ジャックの指が、わずかに震えながらも無線の送信ボタンに触れた。
場面 マディソンスクエアガーデン１
エレベーターに乗ったジャックは、手にしたドーナツの箱を持ち替えると、地下三階へのボタンを押した。冷房の効いたエレベーター内で下っていくランプを見上げたまま、額の汗を拭った。熱した地上からの温度差で多少視界が滲んでいた。
降りて、右手に行くと、すぐ左側にブリーフィングルームの扉があり、よれたスーツを着たセキュリティーの男性がジャックに挨拶した。
「みなさん、もうお待ちですよ」
ジャックはセンサーの前に立ち、静かに顔を向けた。数秒後、「アクセス承認」の電子音とともに、重たい防火扉が左右に開いた。
クリアするとジャックは、口元を緩めていった。
「ドーナツ買ってきたよ。あとでみんなで食べてくれ」
セキュリティーの男性は、白い歯を見せ、サングラス越しに微笑んだ。
厚い防音扉を越えると、薄暗い空間に32面のモニターが青白く光っていた。スタッフが機器の合間を縫って、言葉少なに忙しなく行き交っていく。室内には低く唸るサーバーの音と、時折アラート音だけが響いている。部屋の中央には指揮官席、その周囲に円を描くように並んだワークステーション。壁面いっぱいの巨大スクリーンには、アリーナ内400台以上のカメラがライブ映像を忙しなく切り替え、流し続けている。客席、ロビー、通路、VIPラウンジ、搬入口、ステージ裏、電気設備室、地下通路….
もしも地下通路にねずみが一匹現れたら、下水溝まで追跡できるはずだ。
ジャックは指揮官席に腰を下ろし、前方に据え付けられたグースネックマイクのスイッチを押した。しなる首元がわずかに揺れ、赤いインジケーターが点灯した。
「みんな、ドーナツを買ってきた。残念ながらグレーズドは売り切れだった。ボストンクリーム、チョコフロステッド、ストロベリーフロステッド、オールドファッション、以上だ。コーヒーもないからな。勝手に飲むように」
「ジャック、俺はオールドファッションな」
搬入口にいるベンが、耳に伸びたセキュリティイヤピースの透明なチューブを整えながら、襟元に指を添え、モニター越しに呟いた。
ジャックは軽く微笑み返してから、声を整え、目の前のマイクに向かって、真剣に伝えた。
「まもなく、イーグルがやってくる。ベンのいる搬入口から入り、３分でVIPルームへ。１５分の打ち合わせ後、アリーナへ登壇する。もう一度確認するが、今夜は大統領候補の指名が正式に確定する全国党大会だ。共和党は、２０年以上振りにここで開催するらしい。それから、フィアンセのエリノア・ブレイクもいっしょだ。容姿端麗な才女だ。見惚れるなよ。お前らが見惚れていいのは筋肉隆々の荒くれものだけだ。さらに副大統領候補のコール・ハリソンもいっしょだ。口の悪いジャスティンのお目付役だ。何を言われても決して殴り返すな。俺があとで殴られるからな」
ジャックは腕時計を見た。
「あと１分で到着だ。ジャスティン一行が帰宅したら、ドーナツをたらふく食べてくれ。以上だ」
画面左側に映ったVIPラウンジに見入っていたダリルが、ジャックの背中にいった。
「ジャック、病院のイライジャにも確認したほうがいい。ちゃんと待機しているようにってね」
ジャックは背を向けたまま、腕を上げて返答するとイライジャに問いかけた。
「聞こえるか、イライジャ。お前がスタバでくつろいでると疑われてるぞ、ダリルに」
イライジャは、笑いながら即答した。背後に、ベルビュー病院内の忙しないアナウンスが走っている。のんびりしたイライジャの声とは正反対だ。
「ダリル、なんでばれた？ そろそろジャックの首を飛ばそうと思ってさ」
椅子を回転させたダリルは、右手のモニターに目を落としながら、イライジャに笑いながらいった。
「お前のところに、ジャスティンが運ばれないことを祈るよ」
ジャックは、二人の会話を遮った。
「全員、スタートだ。ジャスティンが到着した。打ち合わせどおりに。頼んだぞ」
場面 マディソンスクエアガーデン３ ジャスティン、エリノア、コール
リムジンのドアが内側から開き、ジャスティン・ブラッドフォードは短くため息をついて足を踏み出した。
「まったく、息が詰まるな。地下駐車場なんて、野良犬でも嫌がる」
スーツの裾を片手で乱暴に払いつつ、顔をしかめて辺りを見回した。その後ろから、副大統領候補のコール・ハリソンが静かに車を降りた。彼はジャスティンより8歳年上だったが、かつてはその父、ライサス・ブラッドフォードのもとで行動を共にし、彼が民主党に籍を置き、狙撃により命を落とすその時まで、傍らで支え続けていた。ライサスが声なき国民の想いを代弁しようとする姿に、コールは深い感銘を受けていた。
大きなあくびをこぼしたジャスティンに、コールは穏やかに言った。
「セキュリティ上の最善策だ。外は、あまりにも不確定要素が多い。危険だ」
「コールの言動の方がよほど先が読めないけどね」
「ジャスティン、そのままお前に返すよ」
ジャスティンの皮肉に、コールは軽く微笑みながら冷静に返した。
エリノア・ブレイクの白いハイヒールが、駐車場の暗いコンクリートに静かに降りた。淡いベージュのコートを羽織った彼女は、ヒールの音も控えめに、優雅に車外へ降り立った。地下の濁った空気に微かに眉を寄せながらも、すぐに笑みを浮かべ直し、ジャスティンに歩み寄った。
「ジャスティン、スタッフにつまらない冗談はやめてね。みんな、あなたのために命を投げ出す人たちよ」
彼女の声は柔らかいが、芯のあるものだった。
ジャスティンは少し顔をほころばせ、エリノアの頬に軽いキスをした。
「命か…なら、俺もその期待に応えないとな」
セキュリティーに囲われた三人は地下駐車場の薄暗い通路へと歩みを進めた。所々薄汚れた壁と天井のLEDライトが冷たく落ちている。冷たさと静寂が辺りを覆っている。
「この手の通路は、いつ見ても気が滅入るな」
ジャスティンが呟いた。
「気持ちはわかるけど、ここが最も安全なルートよ」エリノアが柔らかく返す。コールが間を埋めるように言った。
「こうした環境だからこそ、私たちが守られている。感謝するべきだ」
しばらく歩くと、要人専用エレベーターの前に到着した。壁の顔認証システムが稼働し、認証音が静かに鳴った。
「VIPルームまであと少しです」
セキュリティーのひとりがジャスティンらに告げた。
ジャスティンは背後のエリノアをちらりと見て、肩をすくめていった。
「今夜、ガーデンを震わそう」
エリノアが彼の腕に軽く触れ、優しく笑いかけた。
「期待してるわ、ジャスティン」
三人は静かにエレベーターに乗り込み、VIPルームへと向かった。
場面 トットラーメン アナ、ミカ、車列
—— 赤、黄色、青 ——
イースト52丁目に小雨が舞い始めたのは、午後七時を少し過ぎた頃だった。
アナは、トットラーメンの隣にある古いビルの壁面にもたれ、右手に見える十字路の信号をぼんやりと眺めていた。蒸し返すような湿気がコンクリートにまとわりつき、行き交う人々の足取りもどこか重たかった。
信号が青に変わった。額の汗をハンカチで拭いながら、アナが目を細めると、十字路の向こうにカナの姿が見えた。彼女は手を振りながら、笑顔でこちらに駆け出してくる。
そのとき、空気がふいに変わった。十字路の向こうから、黒いSUVの車列が音もなく滑り込んできた。先頭車両の到着から、最後尾の装甲リムジンが去るまでの数十秒間、交差点は完全に封鎖され、誰も通ることができなかった。
車列が去ると、信号が切り替わり、ふたたび人の流れが戻り、動き出した。
カナがその人波の中からふたたび現れ、手を振った。
展示を終えたアナたちは、ミカの車に荷物を積み終えたあと、マンハッタンへ移動していた。
アナの夫アルジュンは、ウィリアムズバーグにあるAI・クラウド・サイバーセキュリティを手がける複合企業「ルミナテック・イノベーションズ」に勤めている。今日は休日だったが、彼だけハドソンヤードで会議があり、アナらとは別行動だった。
トットラーメンはその近くにあり、以前ミカに連れてきてもらってから、アナたち夫婦のお気に入りになっていた。
「おまたせ。今日は朝から素敵だったね」
息を切らせながら駆け寄ったミカが、そう言った。
“素敵”というのは、今朝の高級スーツをまとった二人の男のことだ。
アナは興味なさそうに答えた。
「そうね。ミカはああいう男性が好み？」
ミカは首をすくめ、笑って言った。
「うーん、かなり遠い存在かな。私は、すぐ実家に帰れるくらいの距離感が好き」
二人は笑い合いながら、ラーメン店の引き戸を開け、カウンターに並んで腰掛けた。店内は週末のため、アジア系の家族で賑わっていた。ミカの聞き慣れた日本語が遠くのカウンターから聞こえてくる。
アナのiPhoneが震えた。アルジュンからのビデオ通話だった。
画面をタッチすると、アルジュンが申し訳なさそうな表情で映った。
「会議が延びてる。少し遅れるから、先に食べててくれ」
アナは、静かに答えた。
「気をつけて来てね。さっきすごい車の軍団が流れていったわよ」
アルジュンは、即答した。
「今日はガーデンで、共和党の大会があるらしい。次期大統領候補が立つらしいよ」
傍で聞いていたミカが深々と頷きながら、同意した。
「なんか朝から物々しいのよね。いつもの週末と違うわ」
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場面 レッドフック１ アミール、ラフィ
レッドフックは、ブルックリンの中でも異質だった。
高層ビルの影に守られ、風雨に洗われた赤レンガの倉庫と錆びた港湾クレーンが、風に軋んでいる街だ。やってくる潮の匂いが重なるたびに上塗りされ、倉庫の鉄の扉に赤錆を浮かせていく。
鍵の壊れたフェンスの向こう、何年も使われていなかった倉庫の扉が静かに開いた。
アミールは一歩踏み入れ、光のない空間に目を慣らした。コンクリートに染み込んだ油の臭いが鼻をついた。
「ここから始めよう」
その声に、ラフィが黙って頷いた。
ふたりが初めてここにやってきたのは５年前の冬だ。イスラエルによってガザ地区ですべてを失った二人は、合法的にエジプトからトルコを経由し、メキシコの南部タパチュラへ行き、コヨーテと呼ばれる密入国請負人と接触した。ラフィは密入国業者へ一人あたり１２，０００ドルを支払った。すべて、北朝鮮経由でハッキングした仮想通貨での支払いだ。金の出どころは、北朝鮮系ハッカー集団を通じて奪ったコインだった。アミールの手でコードが組まれ、記録は消された。彼らは、血を流さずに数字を流して国境を超えたのだ。その後、国境のフェンスを夜に潜り、陸路でアメリカに入った。
テキサスの夜空は、彼らが見たことのないほど青黒かった。低く、澄んだ深い青の美しさは、彼らの胸にいくらかの希望を与えていたが、それ以上に憎しみの強さが上回っていた。
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これまでのメモ
1
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
舞台はニューヨークです。
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
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メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by and Reimagined
"She is the forest’s vengeance, crowned in thorns and lit by fire within."
From the shadowed depths of an ancient forest, she emerges — a spectral queen adorned in a crown of bone and twisted roots, her eyes burning like embers against the void of her pale, deathless visage. Dark braids fall across armor of woven black thorns, each strand whispering with the remnants of forbidden rites. Her presence is both regal and terrifying, as if the forest itself bows to her will. In her gaze lies a promise — of ruin, of resurrection, of an endless reign where the living and the dead are bound as one.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
Assassin of the Sky Realms
Cloaked in shadow and silence, the infamous assassin known only as Hugh the Hand stands watch over the floating world of Arianus. Beneath him, towers pierce the heavens, rising from a sea of clouds. Magic crackles through the skies as lightning dances behind the distant citadel—its spires alight with an eerie glow. With eyes burning like embers and a blade ready at his side, he is the weapon of fate in a world where the sky is both path and prison. This is the brink of legend, where death takes wing.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
Warhammer 40K Fanart
An apocalyptic clash erupts at the gates of a towering gothic citadel as the forces of war converge in a final, cataclysmic stand. Oceans of fire engulf the battlefield, casting molten light on the cathedral’s shattered spires. Space Marines lead the charge through smoke and ruin, their power armor glinting beneath the thunderous sky, while chaos descends from above in the form of a monstrous war engine. Banners whip violently in the toxic wind. Every corner of the frame is alive with action, chaos, and the desperate defiance of the last defenders. A visual tribute to the grimdark scale and intensity of Warhammer’s brutal universe — where there is only war.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
In the heart of Pyraveth’s most volatile caldera rises the Citadel of Living Flame — the eternal stronghold of the Ember Crown. Forged from obsidian, scorched iron, and fire-bonded stone, the citadel is not built atop the lava — it is fed by it. Endless rivers of molten light flow through its veins like lifeblood, powering its walls, its weapons, and the thrones of flame-bound queens who ruled across epochs.
The structure towers into smoke-draped skies, crowned with spires that burn perpetually without fuel. Its great gates are carved from magma-hardened boneglass, and every corridor within echoes with the memory of fire-songs once sung by solar priests and ashborn heralds.
Below the throne, magma pulses through conduits like a heartbeat — the citadel is alive, its purpose older than language, its rage deeper than the planet’s core. It is not just a palace — it is the anchor of Pyraveth's soul.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
Don’t let its size fool you. Jinxroot is not food, not friendly, and definitely not safe. This mischievous fey creature grows in places where failed magic or broken oaths have seeped into the soil. Its giggling root-like form feeds on misfortune—and it’s always hungry for more.
With twisted limbs, a grinning bark-face, and a tiny emotion-shifting flower atop its head, Jinxroot is as unpredictable as wild magic. Touch it, burn it, or try to eat it—and you’ll trigger a chaotic curse that’s more prank than punishment… but not less dangerous.
To some, it's a pest.
To others, it's a rare alchemical catalyst worth its weight in arcane gold.
But to the unlucky? It’s a punchline with teeth.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
Her gaze is not a reflection of the cosmos — it is the origin. Born beneath constellations yet untouched by time, she bears the Glyph of the Infinite Eye, a mark passed down through stars rather than blood. Glowing sigils are etched into her skin like a living spellbook, each rune a verse from forgotten galaxies.
Her eyes swirl with the very fabric of the universe — solar flares flickering in her pupils, nebulae blooming with every breath. The air hums around her with soft pulses of starlight, as if reality itself leans closer to listen. She is prophecy incarnate, a celestial conduit, the whisper between fate and freedom.
finalizing a load of Campanula persicifolia pollen before shuttling it to her nest (I whish I knew where she hid it!)
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop and Photoscape X
Inspired by the lands of Rungardvik
In the heart of a somber Nordic fjord, a lone Viking woman stands in silent tribute, her braided hair and fur cloak stirred by the cold wind. Before her, a burning longship carries a fallen warrior into the afterlife, its flames crackling against a dark, reflective sea. The air is thick with smoke and reverence as dusk wraps the mountains in shadow. This hyperrealistic scene captures the solemn beauty and spiritual weight of a traditional Viking funeral — where fire meets fate, and the old gods watch in silence.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
In the stillness of a forgotten sea cave, beneath the crumbling cliffs of Astoria, the Inferno waits — ancient, defiant, and untouched by time. Her black sails hang torn but proud. Lanterns flicker with ghostly gold, casting shadows across a hull carved with the stories of a cursed crew.
This is no ordinary wreck.
This is the resting place of One-Eyed Willy, the most infamous pirate never found… until now.
Surrounded by dripping stone, glowing tides, and mist rising from dark water, the ship towers with eerie majesty — a final treasure for those who believe in legends, friendship, and the courage to chase both.
This image is not just a scene — it’s a memory reawakened.
A call to adventure, echoing forever in the hearts of dreamers.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
Solenya Myrithane is a paradox — a being of explosive grace and ancient chaos. Her skin glows with the blue of deep space, but dances with shifting galaxies across her cheeks and collarbones like flame and frost colliding. Her hair swirls with bioluminescent energy, a storm of stardust and lightning coiled in strands of neon blues, fiery pinks, and gold-thread light.
Her eyes are star-cores — burning bright gold and white-hot like suns seen through tears. They don’t reflect — they radiate, pulsing with unknowable force. Around her brow is a crown of solar flame and gilded bone, adorned with a molten flower on one side and a luminous sapphire set in woven gold on the other — day and night warring on her face.
Her voice is not often heard, but when she speaks, realms quake — not out of fear, but from pure resonance.
These guys are just about done. There's a few areas and colors I want to touch up before they're finalized, and most of them still need weapons. From left to right:
Vizuna: Not much has changed since the first WIP (I still haven't figured out her chestplate), although I've spent some time trying to get all her colors in place.
Narmoto: Eh... not sure about this guy. He definitely has the hunched, hulking figure I was going for, but his torso has some strange angles and is a little gappy.
Nilkuu: Okay, I think I'm definitely getting to that desert wanderer vibe I was going for. I like my poofy pants. :) He just needs a scarf and some more filling in his chest.
Kivoda: I always headcanoned Gali and Kivoda wearing wetsuits, and I think I pulled that look off well. His other fan is in a WIP of his little seasled.
Korgot: Korgot is looking snazzy in new trans-purple (she even has trans-purple Bohrok eyes on the back of her legs now!). Other than that, not much has changed since the last WIP.
Izotor: Again, not much has changed since the last.
Let me know what you think!
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Under the watchful eye of a full moon, she emerges from the shadows—Eclipsa, sovereign of the forgotten veil. Her obsidian horns spiral like dark crowns of defiance, and from beneath them shine eyes that burn with otherworldly violet fire—ancient, cursed, and impossible to look away from. Arcane sigils are etched across her porcelain skin like living tattoos, pulsing in rhythm with the energy of the void.
Her lips speak no words, yet her gaze commands silence. Adorned in midnight armor laced with enchanted onyx and obsidian crystal, she moves through the night as both predator and prophecy. The wind doesn’t touch her, but the darkness does—it follows, adores, and obeys.
A vision of unholy grace and beauty, she is the nightmare that haunts the realm between desire and damnation.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop and Photoscape X.
Amid crashing waves and emerald lightning, a ghostly Dutch East India Company (VOC) galleon sails defiantly through a supernatural storm. Its sails glow with otherworldly green light, and spectral figures crowd the deck — lost souls bound to an eternal voyage. Lanterns flicker on its rotting hull, casting golden glows against the ink-black sea. Once a symbol of power and trade, this cursed vessel now drifts between the worlds of the living and the dead.
this image evokes themes of haunted legacy, forgotten empires, and the price of greed on the high seas.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by the book Kruistocht in Spijkerbroek (Crusade in Jeans) Fanart and memory of the book
They came crawling from the underbrush like beasts — their faces smeared black with coal, their hair tangled with moss and twigs. Rags hung from their limbs, bound tight with rope and bark, and their eyes burned with something no longer human. Around their heads were crowns of broken branches, their mouths stained red with berries, their fingers clawed with dirt. Not one of them spoke. Not one of them smiled. The forest had swallowed them whole and spat them out as something older, something darker — creatures of wood and shadow. The children were gone. In their place stood the spirits of the woods — wild, feral, and ready.
*to clarify the scene if you are not familiar with the book*
In that moment, the children dress up as terrifying forest creatures using soot, coal, sticks, moss, and other natural materials to scare off a band of attackers (or hostile villagers, depending on the version). They darken their faces with ash, wear branches like antlers or claws, and wrap themselves in foliage and mud — transforming into a kind of living forest nightmare. The tactic works because it taps into medieval superstitions and fear of the wild and unknown. *source ChatGTP*
*note that the picture slightly differs from the text i put in, this to make sure the picture would not to become to dark in tone*
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by and Reimagined
"She speaks in the language of dying stars."
Shaped from the heart of a collapsed star, the Voidborne Oracle walks between realities, her very form a vessel for the cosmos. Her face is a churning sphere of violet storms and streaking lightning, where constellations are born and die in moments. Each gemstone upon her dark, rune-stitched armor glows with captured fragments of distant galaxies, while the staff in her hand holds a twin sphere — a smaller world of raw, unshaped creation. Within the echoing silence of her presence, fate itself feels fragile, as if a single word from her could unmake the threads that bind the universe.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
beneath the deepest forest roots, where the soil remembers fire, Thornpyre slumbers. A primeval dragon of magma and bark, he is not a destroyer of forests—but their fever. When he breathes, the woods twist into living mazes, trees coil like serpents, and the ground pulses with molten life.
His scales crack with emberlight, his wings stretch like scorched canopies, and every step leaves the earth smoldering behind him. Thornpyre is not evil. He is elemental instinct, awakened only when the balance is broken—and once he rises, the forest is never the same again.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop and Photoscape X
Inspired by the lands of RUNGARDVIK
A fierce Viking warlord stands defiant on a snow-covered harbor. His braided beard and weathered face are marked with soot and war paint, eyes burning with the fire of conquest. Bone and iron adorn his armor, with a prominent human skull fixed to his belt—a trophy from battles past. Behind him, a massive Viking drakkar looms with its dragon prow carved in gnarled, snarling wood, its sail billowing in the cold sea air. Snow flurries drift through the amber twilight, while roaring fire beacons flicker on the stone dock pillars, casting shadows on the frozen fjord. This is the face of power forged in frost and flame—unshaken, unbroken, unstoppable.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
Dreamblossom Crossing lies nestled deep within the Verdant Veil, along the border where memory becomes myth. It is neither a village nor a temple, but a flowing realm of luminous emotion — a place where the landscape is shaped by remembrance itself. Here, rivers do not run with water, but with reflective mist that hums with echoes of dreams once held and long forgotten.
The Crossing’s geography is fluid. Floating memory-islands bloom and fade with the feelings of those who pass through. Bridges of condensed mist — delicate and glowing — arch between these islands, ever-shifting and responsive to the intent and emotional resonance of each traveler. No two paths through Dreamblossom Crossing are ever the same.
Above, ancient dreamwillows unfurl vast violet canopies that glimmer with pollenlight. Their petals fall slowly, suspended in air as if reluctant to leave their place of origin. These petals feed the Dreamblossoms — ethereal flowers that pulse with a traveler’s innermost longings and fears. Some bloom in gold, others in sorrowful hues of blue and duskrose, each one revealing truths that words cannot carry.
Sounds and Sensations:
The air carries the faint sound of lullabies not yet sung. Every footstep echoes like a heartbeat from a memory you forgot you had. Breezes stir, but not from wind — rather from unseen thoughts returning to form. The Crossing is still, but never silent.
Spiritual Nature:
Dreamblossom Crossing is considered a sacred liminal zone, often referred to by Lanternbearers as "the place where the Veil listens most clearly." It is here that many receive their first sign that the Hollow Veil remembers them — not for what they have done, but for what they have dared to feel.
Travelers who pass through often leave behind a part of themselves: a fear softened, a joy recovered, a sorrow made whole. In exchange, some find themselves marked with a petal-shaped memory — a living echo that appears later in their path when most needed.
Key Environmental Elements:
Echo-Rivers – Flowing, reflective mistwater that reveals emotional truth
Mist-Bridges – Floating paths that respond to emotional weight
Memory Blossoms – Dreamblossoms glowing with deep emotion, capable of revealing or healing
Pollenlight Glades – Glow with drifting specks of bioluminescent memory spores
Lingerstones – Smooth rocks engraved with unspoken names, warm to the touch of grief or longing
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
In the deepest reaches of the haunted forest, where the air hums with forbidden magic, the Warden of the Umbral Sigil stands vigilant. Clad in intricately engraved black armor laced with glowing violet glyphs, she is a living conduit of ancient shadowcraft. Her piercing violet eyes burn beneath her hood, matching the arcane energy coursing through her runed blade and the faintly pulsing symbols etched into her gauntlets and chestplate. Veiled by a tattered cloak that blends into the mists, she watches silently, the last sentinel of a forgotten order sworn to guard the rift between realms. Every step she takes leaves behind a trail of phantom light, and every breath she draws is whispered in prophecy.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop and Photoscape X
Once, she was the last of the child-fae — a delicate spark born of moonlight and soft laughter beneath the elder trees. But when the fae cradles were silenced and the Dreaming Glade fell to ash, only one voice remained: Thyrelin. Twisted by sorrow and the hollow wind of forgotten lullabies, she wandered too far into the dark, and it answered.
Now she drifts through the world like a forgotten rhyme, cloaked in black gothic silk, wings torn and glittering like brittle lace. Her eyes glow with a memory too old for her face, her laughter long since stitched shut. She scavenges not out of hunger — but out of instinct, weaving bones into strange shapes and singing to things that no longer listen.
The other fae dare not speak her name. To them, she is not a sister, but a reminder.
A reminder that even beauty can fade. That even innocence, when left alone in the dark, learns to weave with bones.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by and Reimagined
Two thrones, one realm — the heart and the mind of the waters eternal.
Emerging from a mirror-still pool within a cavern of glowing lotuses, the queen’s gaze holds the weight of eternity. Her flawless skin shimmers with flecks of starlight, and an intricate crown of crystalline light channels a beam of pure energy from above. Warm golden reflections dance across the water’s surface, mingling with the violet glow of blossoms that seem to pulse with life. The air hums with quiet reverence — a realm where beauty, power, and magic converge in a single breathless moment.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoscape X and Photoshop.
Type: Sentient Relic / Reflective Memory EngineLocation: Half-submerged in the Mire of Mirrors, entwined in thornroots, near the ruins of a memorystone altar.
Description:
An ancient, elliptical mirror grown into a massive arch of twisted vine and bark. Its surface is deeply cracked and glows with soft, inner memorylight — a palette of pale violet, spectral white, and radiant blue. The mirror lies against the mossy floor of the Mire, reflecting not the world around it, but a sky that no longer exists. Its frame is alive with whispering tendrils, and its light flickers with the pulses of unseen decisions.
Known Effects:
Unlived Reflection: Shows not the past or future, but divergent selves — versions of the traveler that could not coexist.
Echo Wound: Viewing it for too long imprints a scar of what was nearly chosen, creating an Echo that might manifest.
Dreamroot Bloom: Under rare alignment, the mirror emits glowing rootlines into the swamp — they entangle fragments of fate, creating new Shardworld seeds.
Connection to Amon the Purple:
Amon once stood before this mirror, not to see who he was, but to deny who he might have been. That denial cracked the world and himself. It is said the first fracture of the Hollow Veil bloomed from his reflection.
So these are the weapons that i am positive i will create for this era. They include:
-Apoc LMG(bipod only included with Tactical Sniper Rifle)
-Apoc Pistol(Held by minifig)
-10mm pistol
-Apoc Assault Rifle
-Apoc Submachinegun(right of assault rifle)
-Apoc Carbine(right of Submachinegun)
-Laser Rifle
-Apoc Rifle w/ Removable Holo sight(below laser rifle)
-Apoc Hunting Rifle(below Rifle)
-Apoc Machete
-Apoc Gasmask
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
A monolithic frame of opaline crystal veined with flickering strands of violet fire, the Heartglass Gate stands dormant at the heart of the Cathedral of Mirrors — until it is invoked by sacrifice. It is said to have no hinges, no lock — only resonance.
Forged from the first vow ever broken, it is not a door, but a decision. It does not open with keys, but with confessions. When a traveler willingly gives Amon what he desires — a surrendered truth or a sealed memory — the Gate awakens. Lightning spills upward. Ten mirrors ignite in sequence. The Gate fractures into a bloom of prismatic light, revealing the Inner Sanctum of Mirrors.
Those who pass through do not return unchanged. The Gate does not remember faces — only intent.
“The Heartglass does not open. It listens — and it decides who dares to be seen.”
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
Bathed in golden light and the hush of high skies, the Command Bridge of the Gilded Leviathan is more cathedral than control room. A sweeping chamber of arched crystal and polished brass, it is crowned by a domed canopy of sapphire glass that charts the constellations in living light. Through its panoramic arc-windows, the clouds part over the floating city of Aureum Spire — distant towers shimmering in a sky that never darkens.
At the heart of the bridge sits the Throne of Directive, carved from cerulean stone and trimmed in star-gold. From this elevated dais, the High Commander oversees the ship and its journey through sunlit winds and celestial territories. Everything here speaks of balance — between empire and grace, between the known and the divine. The bridge is not just where the ship is guided; it is where the course of the skies is written.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Framed in a gothic mirror of baroque metalwork, Reflections of Duality captures the eternal struggle between light and shadow. A single face split down the middle — the right half consumed by demonic corruption with cracked obsidian skin, glowing ember eye, and subtle horn; the left half serene and angelic, bathed in cold light, a pale eye radiating calm divinity. Between them, a molten fracture cuts through the glass — not dividing, but fusing both essences in fragile harmony. This haunting vision embodies the balance of good and evil coexisting within, eternally mirrored and inescapably bound.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
He is not death.
He is the silence that follows.
Within the torchlit halls of the mausoleum, where no name is spoken and no soul dares linger, he stands — cloaked in shadow, clad in armor etched with forgotten runes and veined with crimson shards. His helm, crowned with wicked horns, hides a face never meant for daylight.
The black cape moves as if it remembers battle. The flames on the walls flicker not in welcome, but in warning.
He guards nothing.
He watches everything.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
The Mirror Familiar: Keeper of the Crownlight
“All cats know they are more than they appear. Some mirrors simply agree.”
Inside a sun-dappled, ivy-laced corner of an ancient magical library, a white cat with shimmering fur and ember-gold eyes perches atop a heavy wooden desk. Around it: glowing candlelight, stacks of arcane tomes, and the silent breath of knowledge. The cat is still, regal in its posture, but not watching the room—its golden gaze is fixed on the mirror before it.
Within the glass, the cat's true form is revealed: celestial wings spread wide from its back, glowing softly with ethereal feathers, and a radiant crown hovers just above its head, woven of starlight and gold flame. Its eyes burn even brighter, filled with ancient memory and quiet power. Tiny golden sparks dance in the air between the real and the reflected, as if the magic can’t fully decide which side is true.
The mirror is old—gilded, baroque, carved with runes and secrets long since forgotten by scholars. Open tomes on the desk below are gently illuminated by this mirrored glow, whispering faintly when no one listens.
Lore:
Legends speak of Mirror Familiars—cats whose reflections are not bound by this world. When a cat bonds with magic too ancient for mortal understanding, its soul splits. One part walks the realm of candlelight and scrolls. The other guards something greater.
This one is the Keeper of the Crownlight, protector of a spell once used to crown celestial kings and queens of forgotten realms. Only when the cat gazes into the glass does the memory of its purpose return.
The mirror is not a portal.
It is a reminder.
Trying to finalize some designs I started last year, but didn't get to, for Christmas gifts this year. The saucer was the hardest to do trying to get the center indentation right and use royal icing. This was actually done 3-D style with a small cookie stick baked in the cookie cup, and a hole in the middle of the saucer. The spoon is a small cocktail spoon dipped in chocolate.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
"Some spells require nine lives to perfect."
In the quiet glow of candlelight, the black cat wizard leans over an open grimoire, his golden eyes gleaming with intelligence and mischief. Draped in deep violet robes stitched with runes, a cluster of enchanted charms and a glowing amethyst pendant sway from his neck. Beside him, a skeletal bat-familiar bubbles in a brass cauldron, its eyes alight with violet fire, sending plumes of magic into the ivy-draped workshop. Shelves heavy with herbs, jars, and spell components line the walls, while strange shadows dance from the flicker of the flame. The air hums with secrets — here, every page turned could change the fate of the night.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Bathed in ancient blood magic and bound to an infernal pact, Vel'Zhara, the Crimson Vow, stands as a living weapon of ruin. Her ornate obsidian armor pulses with demonic sigils, each one carved into her flesh during forbidden rites. Twin horns spiral from her skull like a crown of damnation, framing eyes that burn with the fire of sealed realms. With a cursed blade forged in the heart of a dying star, she walks the ruins of broken empires, an omen of vengeance, power, and seduction. Every step she takes cracks the veil between worlds — and every soul she slays binds her closer to her final ascension.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Fanart
Eric Draven returns from the abyss, cloaked in regal black and deep violet armor, etched with silver filigree and crowned with death’s own motifs. His gaze pierces the veil, glowing with ghostly fury as he stands solemnly beside his own gravestone. A lone crow watches from above, sentinel to the sorrow and vengeance he carries.
The graveyard sleeps in silence—twisted trees reaching like claws under the cold moon, shadows crawling between forgotten tombs. This is no ordinary night. This is the night the dead remember.
Obliterator Bricks had the best idea by far so here’s the outline of the contest. There will be two categories. The first is you can build any military vehicle(even Star Wars or a sci-fi stuff), and I mean anything but you have to build a scene to go with it. Doesn’t have to be anything special it just has to go with the vehicle you built. The best combination of vehicle and scene will win the main prize which I haven’t really thought of yet. The second category will be a mini/micro build. You can build any vehicle for this as well but there’s no scene required and the prize is the mini char I posted. You will have until May 4th cuz idk. Thank you so much for 600 and happy building!
also the pic for those interested is me and my lil 702. Went to my friends ranch down in Copperas Cove Texas for the start of spring break and now I’m sunburned so yay😒 It was still really fun tho. Hope y’all have a safe and fun spring break!