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The Distant BladeThe rain hit the glass. It sounded like coins. I sat on the floor. My back was against the wall. The house was cold. It was always cold. I had come back to find something. Or to bury it. I wasn’t sure anymore. The years had worn the edges off my memory. Like stone in a river. Smooth. Round. Useless. I am a soldier. I have been a soldier for a long time. But this was different. This was home....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded SutraThe sword was heavy. It was heavier than stone. It was heavier than the mud that slicked the inside of Thomas’s boots. He swung it. The air hissed. A black shape lunged. Thomas missed. The blade bit into the earth. He pulled it free. The black shape was gone. Or perhaps it had never been there. The village was called Oakhaven. It was a place of stone and smoke. It was a place where the light...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful DinnerThe dream tasted of iron and old rain. It was a cold, gray morning in the village of Oakhaven, a place that sat on the edge of the known world, where the mist did not lift before noon. Thomas Bradshaw woke in his cell. The stone walls wept with condensation. He coughed, a dry, rattling sound that echoed off the damp masonry. He was not a man of flesh, not anymore. Or perhaps he never had been....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden DowntownThe rain has not stopped falling for three days, a persistent, grey weeping that turns the cobblestones of the old district into slick, black mirrors reflecting the towering, soot-stained spires of the Magistrate’s Hall, a place where you have spent the better part of your adult life scrubbing floors that are older than the kingdom itself. You move through the corridors with the silent,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant SummerThe door was heavy. It smelled of wet pine and old iron. Elias stood in the corridor, his hand resting on the wood. He looked at the floor. It was stone. Cold stone. He wore a suit that fit poorly. The shoulders were tight. The sleeves were too long. He pushed the door open. It creaked. A long, low sound. Like a sigh. Inside, the air was still. It did not move. There were no drafts. The room...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale BridgeThe room smelled of wet wool and old dust. Marcus sat at the head of the table. His eyes were closed. His hands rested on the mahogany, fingers splayed like roots. "Is he listening?" asked Elias. Marcus opened one eye. It was pale. Almost white. "He is always listening," Marcus said. "You just have to speak loud enough to cut the static." The static was thick tonight. It hummed in the walls of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded RootThe rain did not fall so much as it was deposited, a fine, persistent mist that settled into the wool of Margaret Holloway’s coat and the creases of her face, blurring the line between the wet pavement of the industrial district and the grey sky above. She walked with the heavy, rhythmic gait of a woman who had spent forty years obeying the ticking of clocks, her steps measured by the invisible...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful IncenseThe stone cracked beneath my boot. I did not look down. The air tasted of iron. And ozone. We were inside the vault. The great cathedral of silence. The building breathed. It had to. Otherwise, the dust would kill us. I am an investigator. Of things that do not exist. Or rather. Things that refuse to stay dead. My name is Elias. It does not matter. Names are heavy here. They sink. I carried the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant ThresholdThe fire in the great hearth of Blackwood Manor had burned low, leaving only a bed of embers that glowed with a faint, dying pulse against the cold stone. Outside, the autumn wind stripped the last copper leaves from the oaks, scattering them across the gravel drive like rusted coins. I sat in the shadows of the library, my hand resting on the hilt of my sword, though I had not drawn it in...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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