Petrychor
Makrokosmos

The black desert scratches the face.
The step advances, the metal sinks into the sand. He leans on it subconsciously. Exhausted, he closes his eyes.
The colors of his land help the ashen sand, causing him pain when they snap against the skin of his cheekbones.
A startle, a reaction more desperate than responsible. Then back to the ground. Knees to the ground. He moves the wool from his mouth, the lunch to the ground.
He sees the ground sucking it and swallowing it.
He would gladly raise his eyes to the sky, but too much desert would fill his eyes, obscuring the sky from him.
Feverish, sweaty down to the crotch, with the help of the steady metal, he rises from defeat. He plants his foot, lifts the metal, and proceeds.

The dune moves quickly, now to the north, the threatening fires of the saber-toothed assassins can be seen. Tomorrow they will hunt again.
The boots quicken, the wind seems to calm down, the celestial vault turns violet: to the north, from the eastern throat, the First Midnight Sun rises proudly with its seven rings. The others will soon follow.
Gravity will soon be an enemy, but the summit is still shifting and has never been so close. Quick as the death from which he is fleeing, he takes four running steps, plants the iron into the ground, and hoists the colors of his land. Sadly, he watches them wave: it's all that's left of her.
Mission accomplished, for whom?

The saber-toothed assassins sleep, the nocturnal suns run, and at dawn, not even a flag in hand.

Andddd well, I don't know what it is, but that's how the album sounded to me. Then to explain how psychedelic black metal can sound... I don't know, I'm not capable.