The glare filled the cockpit like a passenger, until every piece of metal, every crag and cog, was illuminated, until the very metal itself glared back, and might've blinded the eyes of the sun.

All the while, that seemingly sympathetic sun was growing a little fiercer, smiling a little broader. Sometimes the land didn't have to get you. You got yourself.

Some men claimed that saying things made them true. Well, many men who said they were rich still died poor. Nox said he was cool, but that sun showed him he was a liar.

They began their climb, already weary, and the sun tried to steal whatever strength they had left. It was another god, a forgotten god, who gave a daily reminder, and was forgotten again each night.