Every civilisation assumes it will recognise the moment of danger.
It rarely does.
Lost Planet.
Honourable Mythbearers of Xanctu,
Every few months the external noise spikes and my side-quests multiply, and then the gravitational pull of Xanctu drags me back to the keyboard — a cycle I know well enough now to recognise the rhythm.
Lost Planet — Book 2 of the Chronicles of Xanctu trilogy — is alive in my head. I’ve scrubbed a lot of mental detours, watched sci-fi series, ridden the motorbike, tinkered with tech, and fallen down internet rabbit holes. The familiar pre-writing storms.
I’m halfway into the captain’s chair.
Chronicles has never advanced only by epiphany. It’s grown through small, stubborn forward steps, the way I’ve carried it for thirty years.
What’s different this time is the pressure.
Book 2 opens in a universe that already knows something has gone wrong — even if it can’t yet name it.
Lost Planet isn’t an obligation.
It’s where I get to play again.
— Schwann
Your Favourite Cybershaman
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