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The Distant GhostYou stand in the shadow of the great stone archway, the air thick with the scent of damp wool and ancient dust, and you are waiting for the verdict that has been whispered through the corridors of the guild for three days. The leather of your gloves, worn smooth by years of polishing the bronze fittings of the city’s most prestigious estates, feels like a second skin against your knuckles, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded PortraitThe hand was wet. Mara wiped it on her sleeve. She was in the middle of the exam room. The fluorescent lights hummed. A low, electric drone. She held the subject’s left palm. Her own fingers were cold. She pushed her thumb into the center of the other person’s hand. The flesh gave way. It did not feel like skin. It felt like wet clay. It felt like something that had been buried for a long time...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded RootThe dream began with the smell of wet iron. It was a heavy scent. It coated the back of the throat. It tasted like blood. And it tasted like rust. Edward stood in a field. The grass was high. It was black. It swayed without wind. The sky above was a bruise. Purple. Dark. It did not move. It hung there. Heavy. Silent. He wore his uniform. The tunic was stiff. The brass buttons were cold. He felt...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden EchoesThe rain hits the warehouse roof like a handful of gravel. You are on the floor. Your ribs ache, a dull, rhythmic throb that matches the drip from the leaking gutter. You pick yourself up. Your knees crack. You are old. The floor is wet concrete, cold and unyielding under your boots. You wipe your face with a sleeve that smells of rust and old paper. You are not a man who belongs here. You are...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden OathThe mud in the trench did not smell of death. It smelled of iron and wet wool. It smelled of the earth turning over its own entrails. Elara wiped the grey slurry from her face. Her fingers were numb. They were always numb now. The cold had eaten the feeling in her hands days ago. She held the bone white. It was cold against her palm. It was the only thing that was still. Around her, the men...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden GreenhouseThe air in the Hall of Echoes tastes of copper and old rain, a metallic tang that coats the back of your throat as you press your palm against the cold, weeping stone of the pillar, feeling the vibrations of the war drums thrumming through your very bones. You are the Warden of the Green Glass, a title that once meant steward of the sacred orchids, but now, under the weight of the High...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful PetalThe mud of the Valley of Ash was not merely wet; it was a living, sucking mouth that pulled at the boots of the men of the Iron Guard with a tenacity that defied logic, a viscous darkness that seemed to remember every footstep that had ever been taken upon its surface, holding them in a grip that was both physical and spiritual. Sir Kaelen stood at the center of this mire, his armor dented and...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant WhispersThe wind in the high fens did not blow so much as it exhaled, a long, cold sigh that carried the scent of peat and old rain. I stood at the edge of the marsh, my boots sinking into the spongy earth, watching the grey sky press down upon the landscape. The village of Ashworth lay behind me, a cluster of stone cottages huddled together against the chill, their chimneys puffing thin wisps of smoke...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden HarborThe bread was black. It had been black for three days, a dense, loamy slab that smelled of wet earth and old iron. I held it in my hands, feeling the cold seep into my knuckles. The crust was hard as stone, unyielding to the press of my thumb. Inside, the crumb was not bread at all, but a matrix of gray dust and tiny, white insects that curled when touched. I did not eat it. I could not. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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