The world is a sleeping god the size of a continent, and humanity lives inside it—mining its bones, draining its stomach acid, hunting the white immune beasts that rise like antibodies from its flesh. David Kang has survived this way for years. But when the acid lake ripples backward three days early, he realizes the beasts were never the enemy. The wounds are. And humans made them.
The world is a sleeping god the size of a continent, and humanity lives inside it—mining its bones, draining its stomach acid, hunting the white immune beasts that rise like antibodies from its flesh. David Kang has survived this way for years. But when the acid lake ripples backward three days early, he realizes the beasts were never the enemy. The wounds are. And humans made them.
The world is a sleeping god the size of a continent, and humanity lives inside it—mining its bones, draining its stomach acid, hunting the white immune beasts that rise like antibodies from its flesh. David Kang has survived this way for years. But when the acid lake ripples backward three days early, he realizes the beasts were never the enemy. The wounds are. And humans made them.