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The Golden ScarThe wall falls. Dust chokes the light. You cough. Stone dust. Sweet and gritty. You taste it. Your sword breaks. The blade snaps clean. A clean break. Like a bone. You stare at the hilt. Your hand shakes. Not from fear. From shock. You are a knight. You are armor. You are silence. But the sword is gone. You are empty. The room is a ruin. Once a hall. Now a grave. You see him. Edward Ashworth....0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CampusThe dream was a corridor of shattered glass. Marcus walked on it. The shards bit into his boots, but he did not bleed. He walked toward a door that hummed with a low, electric blue light. Behind the door stood his brother, Leo. Leo was smiling. Leo was holding a mirror. Marcus woke up in the narrow bunk in the holding cell. The air smelled of stale sweat and industrial cleaner. He sat up. His...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MountainThe blade sings a high, thin note as it parts the air. You feel the vibration travel up the hilt, into your wrist, into the marrow of your elbow. It is a cold, metallic hum that drowns out the thunder outside. The chamber is vast, a cathedral of stone and shadow, lit by the flickering orange of a hundred tallow candles. The air smells of beeswax, old blood, and the sharp, metallic tang of...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden FarceThe stone of the keep did not merely stand; it breathed, a slow and terrible respiration that echoed in the hollows of Aldric’s chest as he pressed his back against the cold wall of the outer courtyard. Rain lashed the flagstones in sheets of gray iron, blurring the boundary between the sky and the earth, turning the world into a suspended, weeping void. He was a man of the scribe’s desk, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden CrossingThe river had no name. It just was. It cut through the valley like a scar that refused to heal, wide and black and deep. We called it the Crossing. Or the Gap. Depends on who you were and what you feared. I stood on the bank with my boots caked in the red clay of the south side. The mud sucked at my heels. It wanted to keep me. It always wanted to keep me. The festival was in full swing on the...0 Comments 0 Shares 6 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant AffairThe clock on the mantle was broken. It had stopped at four o’clock in the afternoon, three days ago. It did not tick. It did not chime. It only stood there, a gray sentinel in the dusty corner of the study. Arthur sat in the high-backed chair. His hands were still. They rested on his knees, pale and thin as birch wood. He did not breathe loudly. He did not blink often. He waited. The room was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded AlibiThe porcelain plate shatters not with a sound like breaking glass, which is what you expected, but with a dry, hollow crack, the kind that splits a bone, and you stand in the center of the great oak floor of the General’s office, your boots caked with the red clay of the trench line, holding the shards of the only object in this entire fortress that had not been manufactured by the state, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ParadoxYou wake with the taste of iron and wet moss in your mouth, the dream still clinging to you like a damp sheet. In the dream, you are holding a sphere of obsidian, smooth and cold, and inside it swirls a storm of white fire. You know, with the absolute certainty of sleep, that the sphere is your heart. You know that it is cracking. You know that the person standing over you, the one who brought...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful WitnessThe smell of burnt sugar and wet wool was the first thing to break the surface of his dream, a thick, cloying veil that hung in the air of the Grand Hall of the Department of National Security, a place where silence was not an absence of sound but a heavy, physical weight that pressed against the eardrums and the ribs. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the marble floor, his uniform...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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