スティーブンキングは、ロサンゼルスの山火事の中でオスカーをキャンセルする必要があると言います
称賛された著者であるスティーブン・キングは、ロサンゼルスで壊滅的な山火事が進行中のために第97回アカデミー賞授賞式を延期するよう、映画芸術科学アカデミーに促しました。
締め切りに報告されたように、キングは今年の投票に参加しないと宣言し、山火事に取り組んでいる都市のお祝いの雰囲気の欠如を挙げて、イベントを完全にキャンセルすべきだと考えています。 1月7日に始まった火災は、少なくとも27人の命を悲劇的に主張し、激怒し続けています。
「今年オスカーに投票していない」とキングはブルースキーな投稿で述べた。 「率直に言って、彼らは彼らをキャンセルすべきです。ロサンゼルスの魅力的な気分はありません。」
投票期限は1月17日まで延長され、ノミネートの発表は1月23日にスケジュールされました。第97回アカデミー授賞式は、3月2日に予定されたままです。
「私たちは、私たちのコミュニティで多くの人が被った火災の影響と大きな損失に深く悲しんでいます」と、CEOのビル・クレイマーとジャネット・ヤン大統領は、スケジュールの変更に応じて述べました。 「アカデミーは常に映画業界の統一力であり、この挑戦的な時期にお互いをサポートすることに専念しています。」
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Two Embers – Part 1
By [Your Name]
The wind howled across the shattered plains of Eldryth, carrying with it the scent of ash and forgotten prayers. Once, this land had bloomed beneath twin suns—golden and silver—cradled in the arms of the sky. Now, only two embers remained: one buried deep in the heart of the Obsidian Spire, the other flickering faintly in the chest of a girl who did not know her name.
She awoke beneath a sky split in two.
One half burned crimson, the other wept silver mist. The earth cracked like old parchment, and from the fissures rose whispers—voices not of men, nor beasts, but of memory itself. Her fingers curled around a shard of obsidian, warm to the touch, humming with a rhythm that matched her pulse.
She didn’t remember how she got here. She remembered nothing—not her mother’s lullaby, not the sound of her first breath, not even the shape of her face in the still pools of long-dead lakes.
Only the ember.
And the dream.
“When the twins fall, the world will wake,” the dream whispered. “But not as it was. Not as it should be.”
She sat up. The shard pulsed. Her reflection shimmered within it—not a face, but a storm: a woman with hair like flame and eyes like dying stars.
“You’re not real,” she said, voice cracked from disuse.
But the reflection smiled.
And spoke.
“I am you. I am what was lost. I am what was never meant to be found.”
She stumbled to her feet, wind tearing at her tattered cloak—the color of dust and midnight. Around her, ruins of a cathedral rose from the earth, its spires fused with bone and blackened iron. The name carved into its fallen arch read: Aetherion.
Her hand trembled as she touched the stone. A vision tore through her:
A war not of swords, but of light.
Two beings—twin stars forged in fire—clashing in the sky. One wore the face of a god, the other… a child.
She gasped.
And the ember screamed.
From the east, a sound like a thousand bells made of glass. A procession of shadows moved across the horizon—hooded figures with eyes of ash, marching in silence. Their chants were not in any tongue, but in absence. In silence.
She turned to flee—then stopped.
Because behind her, in the west, a new light rose.
Not silver. Not gold.
Blue.
And from it stepped a man—tall, scarred, wearing armor of woven wind and memory. In his hand, a sword without a blade. Its hilt bore the same mark as the shard in her palm.
“Eira,” he said, voice like wind over graves. “You’ve come at last.”
She stepped back. “Who are you?”
He looked at her, and for the first time, his face cracked—just slightly.
“I was your father,” he said. “And I thought I’d buried you with the world.”
The ground trembled. The sky split again.
And from the ember in her hand, a voice rose—not hers, not his.
“The first ember dies. The second awakens. The war begins.”
To Be Continued in Part 2: "The Blood of the Twin Suns"
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