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The Distant AffairThe glass of the atrium had not always been so fragile. In the early days of the Whitmore Industrial Complex, when the smoke from the chimneys was thick enough to taste like copper on the tongue, the panes were thick, green-tinged, and unyielding. They stood as a barrier against the biting winter winds that swept down from the river, a barrier against the dust of the coal, and a barrier against...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale BonsaiI woke in a field of iron. The sky was the color of wet slate. It pressed down low. Heavy. It smelled of rust and old rain. I stood up. My legs shook. The ground was cold. It bit through my boots. I looked around. There were no trees. Only stumps. Thousands of them. They poked out of the dirt like broken teeth. They were pale. White as bone. They were bonsai. Small. Twisted. They grew from the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant SummerThe train hissed and spat steam into the gray morning air. You stood on the platform, your small hand gripping the cold iron railing. Your father stood beside you, his coat buttoned to the chin. He did not look at you. He looked at the tracks. The leaves on the maple trees were turning red, brittle and dry. They crunched under the boots of the waiting passengers. You were seven. You knew you...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden CellarThe cellar was wet. It smelled of rot and old pennies. Ten year old Elias stared at the door. It was oak. It was heavy. It was closed. He pushed. It did not move. He pushed harder. His hands slid on the varnish. The wood groaned. A low, sick sound. Like a man dying in his sleep. Elias was small. His jacket was too big. The sleeves hung past his fingers. He looked like a ghost in a borrowed...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale TaleThe rain did not fall. It pressed. You felt it against your cheek as the carriage groaned over the mud. The wheels stuck. They always stuck here. You were tired. Your bones ached with a dull, rhythmic throb that matched the creak of the axle. You were a man of the Order. A keeper of the silence. But today, the silence felt heavy. It sat in your throat like a stone. The village of Oakhaven was a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful GridThe rain fell like a static charge. It hissed against the visor. It stung the skin. He did not flinch. He did not blink. The world was a grid of grey light and wet stone. It was a world without edges. It was a world without names. Only the grid. And the weight of the spear in his hand. It was a spear of black iron. It was cold. It was heavy. It was the only truth he knew. The enemy was not a...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ChronicleI woke from a dream where I was counting the cracks in the plaster ceiling. In the dream, the cracks were words. They spelled out sentences I could not read. I sat up in the dark. The cold air bit my neck. I was in the Great Hall of the King’s Court. But the King was dead. The throne was empty. Only the dust remained. I looked at my hands. They were stained with ink. Black and deep. I had been...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful WitnessThe great hall of the Whitmore estate did not sleep. It breathed. To ten-year-old Elias, the building was not a structure of stone and timber but a living organism, a vast, cold beast with lungs made of drawbridges and heartbeats in the floorboards. He sat on the edge of the marble hearth, his knees drawn to his chest, watching the fire die. Outside, the rain lashed the windowpanes, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden CrossingThe fog came in thick as wool. It settled in the cellar of the Ashworth Foundry, pressing against the stone walls, muffling the sounds of the world above. Elias stood in the center of the room, his hands wrapped around a cup of cold tea. He was a man of quiet habits. He spoke little. He worked much. The iron was cold, but his fingers remembered the heat. He had spent forty years shaping metal...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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