0 Commentarii
0 Distribuiri
1 Views
0 previzualizare
Director
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Vă rugăm să vă autentificați pentru a vă dori, partaja și comenta!
-
The Pale ProtocolThe letter arrived in a plain brown envelope, the paper brittle with the age of the stamp, and Elias Thorne did not open it until he had driven the rental car for three hours into the Scottish Highlands, the rain drumming a relentless, monotonous rhythm against the windshield that sounded less like water and more like the frantic tapping of insects trapped in a sealed jar. He sat at the edge of...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare
-
The Faded MasqueradeThe rain had stopped, leaving the mud slick and black under the grey sky. Elias Vance walked the ridge line, his boots heavy with the weight of the day. He was a man of few words, his face a map of old scars and newer weariness. Behind him, the caravan of supplies sat still, the horses shifting in their stalls. Ahead, the valley opened up, wide and empty, save for a structure that rose from the...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare
-
The Faded QuadrantThe road from the lowlands to the high castle was a ribbon of mud and stone, slick with the rain that had not stopped for three days. Seraphina rode at the head of the small column, her horse a grey mare named Lumen, her armor dented and dull with the grime of the journey. Behind her, the baggage train moved slowly, a snail’s trail of oxen and carts carrying the supplies for the garrison. The...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare
-
The Pale BannerThe fever was a white noise. It hummed in my teeth. I held the bowl up. The liquid inside was thick, grey, and trembling. It smelled of wet earth and old copper. This was the medicine. This was the cure. I had to drink it. I had to save him. My name is Elias. I am a man who left. I left the city of ash and smoke. I left the life that was too loud. I came here to this house. This house with the...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare
-
The Pale LetterThe wool coat sits on the back of the chair. It is a heavy thing, grey as the slate roof outside, and it has begun to smell of damp wool and old tobacco. You do not touch it. You sit at the desk, the wood polished to a mirror sheen by years of elbows and pens, and you watch the coat as if it were a sleeping animal. It is the only object in the room that does not belong to the Bureau. It belongs...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare
-
The Golden CrossingThe iron gates of the Citadel of Aethelgard did not creak; they screamed, a high, thin shriek that cut through the fog like a blade through silk. You stood on the threshold, your boots caked in the red mud of the valley below, the weight of the ceremonial sword heavy in your hand. The air inside was thick, suffocating, smelling of stale incense and old blood. This was the heart of the empire, a...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 3 Views 0 previzualizare
-
The Faded QuadrantThe rain in the Foundry District did not fall; it descended like a verdict, heavy and cold, soaking through the wool of your uniform until the fabric clung to your ribs like a second, wet skin. You stood on the wet cobblestones, the iron breath of the industrial age settling into your lungs, tasting of sulfur and rust. Around you, the city hummed with the low, mechanical thrum of the looms and...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 2 Views 0 previzualizare
-
The Wistful AsylumThe ink is wet. It smells of iron and rain. You are standing in the corridor. The floor is black linoleum, cracked like old ice. The walls are painted a sickly, peeling green. Fluorescent tubes buzz overhead. They do not hum. They scream. A low, continuous vibration that lives in your teeth. You wear the uniform. The wool is heavy. It clings to your skin like a second, damp hide. The brass...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare
-
The Pale ShadowsThe dream was not of flight, as was customary for the guard, but of a heavy, wet stone settling into a crevice of wet clay. There was no water, only the pressure, the absolute and crushing weight of the earth above. When Julian woke in the small, drafty chamber of the North Wing, he did not feel the usual surge of adrenaline that followed his recurring visions. He felt only a profound, hollow...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare
English
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek