0 Comments
0 Shares
20 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Pale ShadowsThe road to Millhaven is mud. It has been mud for three days. You walk it in the grey dawn, your boots sinking into the cold earth with a wet, heavy sound. You are a soldier. Or you were, before the war ended, or before you decided it had. Now you are just a man with a sword that does not fit the age. You carry it in a scabbard of worn leather against your hip. It is the only thing that feels...0 Comments 0 Shares 6 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden GreenhouseThe coat is green. It is a violent, acidic green. You wear it every day. It smells of rain and old wool. The city is grey. The sky is grey. Your face is grey. You are a thing that does not fit. You are a ghost in a suit. No, not a suit. A uniform. The badge is gold. It shines on your chest. It looks like a sun. It looks like a coin. People look at you. They do not see you. They see the coat....0 Comments 0 Shares 18 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful Mountain"You missed the mark." The voice was soft. Too soft. It came from the shadow behind the loom. I didn't turn. I kept my eyes on the warp. The thread was taut. A single white strand. It hummed. A low, steady hum. "Check the tension, Arthur," I said. "I did." "You didn't." I pulled the lever. The shuttle slid. Left to right. Right to left. The rhythm was broken. I felt the error in my fingers. In...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RuinThe rain did not fall. It was suspended. Millions of droplets hung in the air above the city of Oakhaven, a static gray curtain that smelled of ozone and old copper. They did not strike the pavement. They did not wet the hair. They simply waited, frozen in time, trapping the city in a perpetual, breathless afternoon. Elias Thorne stood before the glass wall of his cell. He was not looking at...0 Comments 0 Shares 18 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden DowntownThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a static charge of gray mist that settled into the wool of my coat and the creases of my hands. We had been walking for six hours. The route was not on any map I had ever seen, a series of service tunnels beneath the administrative district that smelled of damp concrete and ozone. I carried the package. It was heavy, cold to the touch, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden FarceThe wind carried the smell of wet iron and old dust. It was a scent that sat heavy in the back of the throat. Elias Thorne pulled his collar up. The leather was cracked. It bit into his neck with every step. He walked the ridge line. Below, the valley was a patchwork of gray and brown. The modern world had abandoned this place. The cell towers stood like dead trees. Silent. Useless. Elias was a...0 Comments 0 Shares 18 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestThe road to the Citadel of Oakes was a ribbon of grey stone that unspooled through the mist, leading the eye upward toward the spires that pierced the low, bruised sky. Thomas Bradshaw walked it alone, his boots heavy with the mud of the valley floor, his cloak pulled tight against the damp chill that seeped into his bones. He carried no sword, only the weight of his rank and the silence of his...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden QuestThe rain hit the glass with a rhythmic, industrial thrum. Inside the observation deck, the air smelled of ozone and stale coffee. Elias Thorne stood by the porthole, watching the storm tear at the hull of the *Aethelgard*. He was an old man, his hands mapped with the faint, gray scars of burnt circuits and broken glass. He did not look at the sea. He looked at the reflection. In the glass, his...0 Comments 0 Shares 30 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SuspectThe rain in the valley did not wash the world clean; it merely polished the grime until it shone with a terrible, oily luster. It fell on the rusted corrugated roof of the shed where Elias spent his mornings, a sound like dry leaves skittering over pavement, a constant, grinding whisper that drilled into the hollows of his bones. He was twelve years old, a boy made of sharp angles and quick...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek