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The Golden CrossingThe iron blade bites your shoulder. You do not flinch. Blood, hot and thick, beads on the steel. The King’s guard lunges. You spin. The tip of your spear finds the gap in his armor. He falls. The throne room is silent, save for the wet sound of his breathing stopping. You stand before the High Seat. The room is vast. Cold. Stone arches rise into shadow. Candles flicker. Smoke curls. The air...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 1 Vue 0 Aperçu
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The Faded ChronicleThe mirror cracked. Not shattered. Cracked. A single, jagged vein running from the top left to the bottom right. Like a river on a map. Or a scar. I looked at it. The glass did not break. It held. But the image did not. My face was split. Left side, I was young. Right side, I was old. Or perhaps it was the other way around. The light was bad. The room was dark. The stone walls were cold. This...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 1 Vue 0 Aperçu
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The Pale VerdictThe rain fell in sheets of grey water, blurring the edges of the city into a watercolor smear. Elias Thorne stood on the corner of 5th and Main, his umbrella tilted against the wind. It was a good umbrella. Black, heavy, built to last. He held it with a grip that suggested he was holding onto the last solid thing in a dissolving world. The office was three blocks north. A glass tower. Cold....0 Commentaires 0 Parts 1 Vue 0 Aperçu
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The Golden MirrorThe train hummed a low, mournful note as it crossed the bridge over the River Trent. I watched the water below. It was black and fast. I was traveling to the Ashworth Institute. The building loomed out of the mist. It was gray stone. It was cold. I carried my mother’s diary. It was leather-bound. The cover was cracked. I pressed it against my chest. It felt like a heart beating out of rhythm. I...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 1 Vue 0 Aperçu
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The Distant WoundThe rain did not fall. It hung. Suspended in the grey air of the Hollow, it looked like a thousand tiny needles, frozen mid-stab. I stood there, mud up to my knees, holding the iron staff. My hands shook. Not from cold. From the weight of what I carried. Or rather, what I had taken. "Put it down, Elias," said the voice. It came from everywhere and nowhere. It was the wind, or maybe the trees,...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 1 Vue 0 Aperçu
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The Faded ApartmentThe rain did not fall so much as it was pressed down from the grey, heavy sky, a relentless, wet hand wiping the slate roofs of the precinct clean of the morning’s dust, while inside the damp, stone-walled interrogation room, Sergeant Elias Thorne sat with his back against the unyielding bench, his uniform buttons straining against the tension in his chest, and he watched the clock on the wall,...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 1 Vue 0 Aperçu
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The Distant CartographThe road was wet. It had been raining for three days. The mud sucked at the boots of Sergeant Elias Thorne. He walked. The sky was grey. It hung low over the valley. It pressed down on the trees. The trees were bare. They stood like silent witnesses. Elias held a map. It was old. The paper was yellow. The ink was faded. He did not look at it. He looked at the road. The road was a scar. It cut...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 1 Vue 0 Aperçu
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The Distant LegendThe rain against the leaded glass of the tower room did not fall so much as it pressed, a persistent, rhythmic drumming that seemed to synchronize with the beating of Elias Thorne’s heart. He sat at the desk, his back rigid, the candlelight flickering in a way that made the shadows in the corners of the room dance with a frantic, nervous energy. In his hands, he held the seal. It was a small...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 1 Vue 0 Aperçu
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The Pale TaleThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended grey curtain that blurred the distinction between the cobblestones of Blackwood Lane and the soot-stained bricks of the factories that loomed above them like the ribs of some buried, breathing leviathan. Thomas Bradshaw stood at the edge of the platform, his leather satchel heavy against his hip, watching the steam from the...0 Commentaires 0 Parts 1 Vue 0 Aperçu
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