HUI POLYGONIA is a jewel in the Static Sea.

A tropical paradise overrun by alien creatures, yet the locals no longer bat an eye.

These neon flaws in reality are warm to the touch, and carry with them snippets of sensation—readable, familiar, yet abstract, like a melody hummed by a child.

Lapuhe’e, as they are so called, can be as small as butterflies or as large as cumulonimbus clouds.

When they siphon mana from the land—at an interval that seems to coincide with the phases of the moon—the air feels tingly and electric. Time seems to tick slower, and moving seems to require more effort, as if an invisible pressure is pushing against the skin.

These three to four days of the month, the locals choose to relax. Some hold gatherings where they drink somajama—a fermented root tincture that brings euphoria and visions.

Once the days of feeding end, that’s when the portals open, and the voyagers return home—many to celebratory fanfare, but some, occasionally, to funeral. . .