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The Faded RiverThe border is a line. It is drawn in ink. It is drawn in blood. I am here. I am not there. The river runs wide. The water is brown. It smells of mud. It smells of rust. I am a ghost. I am a document. I am a file. My name is Elias. My name is nothing. The sun beats down. The heat is a weight. It presses on my chest. It presses on my mind. I walk. I walk. I walk. The path is dirt. The dirt is...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden OathThe carriage wheels bit into the frozen mud. The cold was a living thing, pressing its face against the glass. Elias sat in the corner, his knees drawn up. He was thirteen. His hands were white. They were the color of bone. Across from him, his father, Thomas, stared out the window. His jaw was set. A muscle twitched near his ear. They were traveling to the Capital. To the High Court. "Are you...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden DowntownThe rain had stopped, but the air in the office still tasted of wet stone and old paper. I sat across from him, watching the way the light caught the dust motes dancing in the shafts from the high window. He was a small man, David, with hands that trembled slightly, not from age, but from a kind of vibrating tension, like a plucked string that refused to settle. He was my friend. Or rather, he...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant AffairThe moth was still on the table. It had been there since the morning, a white speck of ash against the mahogany, its wings folded tight as if in prayer. I did not move it. I did not look away. I sat in the high-backed chair of the magistrate’s office, the leather creaking under the weight of my silence, and I watched the insect’s stillness while the dust motes danced in the single beam of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale FractureThe hall smells of roasted boar and spilled wine. It is a thick, cloying scent. You stand at the edge of the dais. Your boots are heavy. They are iron-shod. They sink slightly into the polished oak floor. The floor is ancient. It has seen kings. It has seen tyrants. It does not care about you. You are a shield. You are a wall. You are the stone that holds the gate. Around you, the feast roars....0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale FractureThe rain in the city did not fall. It hung. A grey, suspended mist that clung to the wool of my coat and the steel of my sidearm. I walked through Sector Four, the streets slick with a sheen that reflected the neon bleed of the surveillance drones overhead. They hummed, a low, constant drone, the sound of the state breathing. I was a man of the Bureau. My badge was a cold iron square against my...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AsylumThe rain did not fall so much as it hung, a gray curtain that blurred the edge of the world. Thomas stood at the gate of the estate, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that had not tasted blood in twenty years. He was leaving. Or rather, he was being unmade. The command had come from the High Chamber, sealed in wax that smelled of iron and rot. He was to walk the perimeter one last time,...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden CellarThe cellar door was iron. Rust ate the hinges. Elias stood before it, hands trembling in the cold. He was a scholar of ruins. His specialty was decay. He knew the grammar of collapse. He knew how stones weep. He knew how timber rots. He did not know how to open a door. The key was in his pocket. It was heavy. It was gold. It was not his. He had stolen it. That was the lie. He had found it. That...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SilenceThe steam pressed against the glass of the depot window. It smelled of coal and wet wool. Elias stood by the ticket counter. The brass clock above it ticked. Each second was a small hammer blow. He did not look at the clock. He looked at the floor. The tiles were cracked. A dark stain spread across them. It looked like a map of nowhere. He held a small box in his hands. It was made of oak. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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