Amberstone Extras #058 – Notes from the Circle: Reflections on Sloth's Peace

  Transcript recovered from a Purity-administered group meeting in Thessaloniki, conducted 2066. Audio recording corrupted midway through; final transcriber notes included.

  "My name is Luka. From Serbia."

  (Pause.)

  "I used to hate this city. Still kind of do. My grandfather fought the Greeks in the ‘90s. We all fought each other back then. Now, I sit next to a Greek man and drink state-issued bottled water and pretend it doesn’t taste like moss. We nod. We don’t fight. That’s... peace, right?"

  "I’m Elif. From Ankara."

  "My brother died in the early weeks. Airstrikes. A mortar hit his car. I joined the resistance until... I don’t know. I think I just got tired. Maybe Sloth made me tired. Or maybe I finally understood what she meant when she said, 'Why fight for a world that has never stopped fighting?'"

  Stolen novel; please report.

  "Milos, Montenegro."

  (Laughter.)

  "Still can’t stand Croats. Or Bosnians. Or Turks. Or... honestly, all of you. But I don’t hate you the way I used to. I just... don’t care anymore. We play cards. We share meals. We sit in circles like this. I dream of her sometimes. Her voice sounds like my mother’s when she wasn’t angry."

  "Petra, Skopje."

  "I saw Sloth once. Her eyes are heavy. Like stone in deep water. But when she looked at me, I felt light. Like I could stop remembering how my cousin burned to death in the textile riots. She called me her child. Said we all were. No one had said that to me before."

  "Iosif. Bulgaria."

  "I still joke about how we all drink the same damn water now. Same label. Same taste. Even the arguments feel... recycled. But I can’t remember why I hated any of you in the first place. Maybe that's her gift. Maybe that’s the curse."

  [Unintelligible murmurs. Long silence.]

  [Chairs creaking. One by one, the members rise and exit the room quietly.]

  Final Transcriber Note:

  Remaining in the room was a faint scent—lavender and wet stone. The bottled water left behind was half-full, still cold. All voices, all histories, all flags... gone silent. Sloth's peace does not erase. It hushes. It numbs.

  And in the numbness, the Balkans finally sleep.