A project from our MDT ART SQAUD: GIEL, MARISA, NERA, NOVA, RAOUL, SARE, YUBIN!
The Nimmers have started to cross into our world.
They’ve always been nearby, just out of reach. In riverbeds, in abandoned corners of cities, in dunes and shorelines, in places where something used to exist but was forgotten or pushed aside. They’ve been watching, waiting. And now, for the first time, they’re stepping forward.
- Mallow is one of the first to arrive.
They come from the rose of the wetlands, where life clings to the smallest traces of water. This widely growing flower shapes their garment and ties them to the landscape, part of a collective and in harmony with it. Moss, flowers, bits of kelp – everything they carry tells a story, and if you follow those strands closely, you begin to understand not just Mallow, but the many lives connected to them.
- Then there’s Yik-erum, the Dreameater.
These nimmers are not often aware of their physical body. Instead, they spend a lot of time in a mental trance, focused on other aspects of reality besides the physical one. Here they learn, play, and explore. They may even spend time creating dreamplays with others of their species and changing them on a whim, just to see how everyone responds to the new scene. They experience tremendous freedom in their minds. But whenever the ritual of the nimmers is about to happen, the restless energy of the others across realities disturbs their trance. A great energy compels them back into their body; the ritual calls them, and they comply with an almost animalistic instinct. For this species, the body feels like a confinement. Movement seems restricted; vision is limited; they cannot fly or change their environment instantaneously. They must walk; they must breathe air and feel it scrape past their lungs. They must dance, yet they aren’t practised in using their limbs. This nimmer can be seen to use mimicry to compensate.
- The Haetae-bearer arrives with a different kind of presence.
They carry something deeper, shaped by loss, injustice, and endurance. It’s the feeling of Han, though they don’t name it outright. But alongside it is something else: Jeong. A quiet, persistent care that connects them to others, even when it would be easier to pull away. As the Haetae (해태), they stand as a guardian against malevolence and the eternal champion of justice. They don’t offer easy comfort, but something more honest: the idea that healing only begins when nothing is hidden.
- Fyriva Firekeeper joins the gathering.
Long ago, humans and Fyriva shared the riverbank, keeping small, careful fires and learning “cool fire” from their flame-kin: heat that nourished soil, respected water, and gave warmth rather than burned. Over time, the fires grew without stories: chimneys, factories, wildfires, and a sky thick with heat until rivers warmed, banks cracked, and the Fyriva withdrew into cooler bends, tasting burnt soil and plastic-laced currents. On the Night of Split Flame, they vowed to step out of hiding and carry their knowledge beyond their own world, so others might learn before repeating the same mistakes. Their core teaching is simple: where there is no balance, there can be no healing.
- From the underwater dunes comes the Akna.
Their community is warm and embracing, living on underwater dunes at the edge of the known world. They have been shaped by the dangers of the wild borders they inhabit, yet they still seek harmony with one another. The days are warm, and life is washed in the brass tones of morning and evening sun. Movement is strong here, with undercurrents powerful enough to pull you away. Even in these harsh conditions, they find joy in communal life, sharing adventurous stories by the glow of charged, luminescent pools and over shared meals.
- And then there is the River Keeper, from what remains of Nijmegen.
They tend the underwater plants and protect the animals living among them. They grow new river grasses, remove harmful waste, and make sure underwater creatures have a safe place to live. They believe that if nature thrives, civilisation can thrive with it.
Some things have always existed, just out of focus, like those in riverbeds or in places where something once was. Now they are easier to notice. One carries the wetlands with them: moss, threads, small objects that hold memory, never only one life at a time. Another moves between thought and form, slowly adjusting to the weight of a body. One stands with something ancient within and does not try to cast it off. Another has known fire long enough to handle it carefully. One comes from the shifting edges, where warmth is not given but made. Another looks after what continues to grow beneath everything we have left behind.
They are no longer just at the edges.
What happens next depends on who is willing to notice.
