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The Faded RoadThe rain did not fall. It hung. It was a thick, grey sheet over the valley. The air tasted of wet iron and old paper. Silas stood by the window of the study. The glass was cold. He breathed on it. A small cloud formed. It vanished. Outside, the road was gone. Just mud. Just black water. He was a captain. The uniform hung in the closet. He wore a flannel shirt. The collar was stiff. He had...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale ShadowsThe rain did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended curtain of gray mist that smelled of wet stone and old blood, wrapping around the keep of Aethelgard in a shroud that felt less like weather and more like the breath of something ancient and watching. "Is it finished, then?" The voice came from the shadows near the hearth, low and rough, belonging to Silas, whose armor was not the polished...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded AtticThe room smelled of stale coffee and wet wool. It was the break area. The fluorescent lights hummed a low, sick note that seemed to vibrate in my teeth. We were all there. Twelve of us. The senior squad. We had just finished a twelve-hour shift. The kind where you forget your own name. The kind where the world stops making sense. We stood in a loose semicircle. Holding mugs. Staring at the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden SongYou are sitting in the kitchen, the linoleum cold against your bare feet, and you are counting the cracks in the ceiling tiles because counting is the only thing that keeps the noise of the world at bay, the specific jagged white line that runs from the light fixture to the corner where the plaster has bubbled and peeled like dead skin, a map of the slow decay of the house you bought with your...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant WoundThe fog did not roll in so much as it solidified, a thick, gelatinous wall of grey that swallowed the iron lattice of the suspension bridge whole, erasing the distant spires of the city and leaving Sergeant Elias Thorne suspended in a void that smelled of wet rust, ozone, and the coppery tang of old blood. He stood at the center of the walkway, his heavy leather boots gripping the slats with a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MythIn the dream, the ink was not black but the color of dried blood, thick and viscous as tar. It stained the fingers of the scribes, it pooled in the gutters of the scriptorium, and it seeped into the very stone of the Abbey of Saint Cuthbert. When Thomas Bradshaw woke, the taste of iron still lingered on his tongue, a metallic ghost that would not dissipate despite the cold water he drank from...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded AtticThe feast in the square of Oakhaven was not a celebration of joy, but a display of possession, and Elias Thorne stood at the periphery, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the merchants unroll their silks and the tailors pin their brocades onto the mannequins that stood like silent sentinels in the moonlight. The air smelled of roasting lamb and wet wool, a thick, cloying scent that...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant SummerThe hall smells of roasted boar and old stone. You stand at the edge of the feast, your armor cold against your ribs, the metal humming with a low, persistent frequency that only you can hear. It is the hum of duty. It is the hum of the wall. Around you, the lords of the Keep drink deep from silver cups, their laughter bouncing off the vaulted ceiling like stones thrown into a dry well. You do...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant TempleThe road was wet. It glistened under the grey sky, a vein of black sludge cutting through the white snow. I walked fast. My boots sank deep with every step. The cold bit into my fingers. I held the ledger tight against my chest. It was a heavy book. Leather bound. Cold to the touch. Inside were the numbers. The debts. The lies. I was a clerk. I counted things. I did not judge. But today I felt...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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