Lynolite was a tricky substance to find. It acted as if it knew its own dangerous potential and purposefully camouflaged itself among snow and ice as if it knew better than man than to allow itself to be found in the wrong hands.
It was volatile, intoxicating, unpredictable, dangerous…just like man.
The unspoken warnings should have been enough, but they never were. They only heightened the desire to seek out danger, fill one’s cup with the rush of the thrill, the promise of impossible power.
Edison March didn’t feel alive unless he was binge drinking adrenaline, toeing the line of life and death. More than that, Lynolite fascinated him, the hunt for it fascinated him. He’d also been paid smartly for its retrieval, nearly enough tokens to cancel all of his debts and allow him to live high on the Hill for the rest of his pretentious days.
He cast his eyes outward, drawing them away from the drinkable blue of the Lynolite, and tried to image the Hill from where he stood in the cold. If he stared long enough the lead-like gray of the frozen waters would bend within his imagination and form the domed homes and structures of the Hill.
He could smell the crispness of the air, taste the fruits of the land, hear the sound of the carefree laughter in the air. At least he’d heard they laughed on the Hill. One thing he knew for certain, they glowed there at night. Some of them even rose into the heavens.
He’d seen it happen a time or two although now one believed him.
The bitter taste of resentment coated his tongue and made him frown. What did it matter anyway, his imaginings, the things he’d seen, or even the Hill? Once he delivered this bounty to the one who’d hired him, there would be no guarantee that the Hill would even exist once he’d taken his payment and made himself scarce.
That was a dark problem Edison chose not to entertain. Instead, he began to dig.
~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!