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The Faded RiverThe stone of the Watchtower did not merely stand; it breathed, a slow and rhythmic exhalation of cold air that seeped through the mortar and into the bones of Sir Aldric Vance, who had spent forty years listening to the silence of the kingdom’s borders, waiting for the moment when the silence would finally break and reveal the shape of the thing that lived within the dark. He was a man carved...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale GardenThe letter had arrived three days prior, its envelope stained with the dark, rust-colored residue of the earth from which it had been dug up, a physical testament to the slow, grinding decay that was currently consuming Elias Thorne’s lungs. He sat now in the back of the horse-drawn carriage, the wood groaning under the weight of the autumn rain that drummed against the roof with a rhythmic,...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CrownThe command came in at 0400. Red light. Flickering. "Unit Seven. Containment breach. Sector Four." I checked my visor. Haptic feedback. Cold. My name is Elias Thorne. I am a Specialist in Anomalous Containment. I have done this for six years. I know the smell of ozone and old blood. I know the weight of the rifle. I know the sound of my own breathing. It is too loud. My daughter is in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale ShadowsThe banquet hall smelled of wax and old blood. I stood by the window. The glass was cold. It bit into my palm. Outside, the moor slept. A grey veil of mist swallowed the hills. The castle stood like a tooth in a rotting jaw. Inside, the fire roared. It ate the logs. It ate the shadows. Lord Ashworth sat at the head of the table. He was a large man. His face was red. Wine stained his beard. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale BridgeThe morning Cillian left the valley, the fog did not lift; it only thinned, revealing the world in a grey, watery blur that seemed to breathe against the glass of the car windows. He was twelve years old, and his hands, which had been steady enough to tie the laces of his boots, now trembled with a fine, persistent vibration that he could not shake. He looked back at the house, the one with the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale ShadowsYou are in the house. The house is cold. It has always been cold. You feel the chill in your teeth. You feel it in the marrow. You are the house. You are the stone. You are the draft. It is night. Or it is day. The light does not matter. The light is a lie. You sit at the desk. The wood is smooth under your hands. You know every scratch. You know every stain. You have been here for years. You...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden HarborThe rain did not fall. It was driven. It struck the mud of the track with a violence that seemed personal, as if the sky itself were angry at the intrusion of the cart below. Thomas Ashworth sat in the driver’s seat, his hands white-knuckled on the reins. The mule, a shaggy thing named Gideon, huffed and spat, its eyes rolling in the dim light of the heath. In the back of the cart, wrapped in...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded QuadrantThe rain had not stopped in three days. It drummed against the shingles of the old stone house, a relentless, grey static that filled every corner of the room. Elias Thorne stood by the window, his back to the living room, watching the mud slide down the hill toward the road. He was a man who had worn many uniforms, but this one was just wool and dirt. A heavy coat. A badge on his hip that no...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant JourneyThe rain had been falling since the dawn, a persistent and grey sheet that turned the cobblestones of the town square into a mirror of slate and shadow, reflecting the muted light of the world above in a way that seemed to dissolve the very edges of the buildings until they were nothing more than suggestions of stone and timber. Sir Arthur Pendelton stood beneath the awning of the old...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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