After the robe The world awoke to the sound of wind. For the first time in times, no retired signal hummed beneath the air, no artificial meter bucketed beneath the skin. People stood in silence, marveling at the simplicity of hearing only themselves breathe. In the remains of the old Stronghold’s broadcast center, sparks still flitted across melted circuits. The great satellite dishes — formerly refocused at the welkin hung broken, their reflective shells now filled with rainwater. Children played in those billabongs , drawing gyrations in the ripples. The robe was gone. But its shadow dallied in minds that could n't yet tell what was real. numerous walked the thoroughfares dazed, clinging at fading mirages, unfit to believe that the world they saw now was verity. And high above them,

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