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The Distant ThresholdThe fog that rolls in from the jagged coastline does not merely obscure the world; it erases it, swallowing the gray stone ramparts and the black iron gates of the fortress until you are left suspended in a void of damp wool and cold silence, a feeling that has settled into your marrow over the last three decades of service as a sentinel of the borderlands where the old wars never truly ended...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded AtticThe rain tapped against the roof of the holding cell, a persistent, rhythmic drumming that matched the pulse in Elias’s jaw. He sat on the steel cot, his hands folded in his lap, fingers interlaced so tightly the knuckles turned white. The room was small, a cube of cinder block and cold air, smelling of bleach and old sweat. Through the heavy, barred window, the corridor lights flickered. They...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale AltarThe ink was drying on the parchment. It bled like a wound. Thomas sat in the high chair. His fingers were numb. The cold bit into them. He looked at the Mayor. Mayor Aldous stood by the fire. He smoked a pipe. The smoke curled up. It smelled of tobacco and rot. Thomas was a scribe. He wrote the laws. He wrote the names. He was the town’s memory. His hands were his tools. They were also his sin....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MazeThe fog in the valley did not rise; it pooled, thick and cold as the condensation inside a tin cup, swallowing the foot of the mountain and the jagged ironworks of Blackwood Industrial until only the skeletal spires of the chimneys remained, piercing the gray sky like broken teeth. Silas Vane sat on the edge of the stone bridge, his legs dangling over the black water of the river, and waited....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale BannerThe rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the world into a smear of mud and memory, and I sat alone in the back of the transport truck, my back pressed against the cold metal wall, listening to the rhythmic thump of the engine and the distant, hollow sound of my own heart beating in my chest. My left arm was bound in a thick, white cast, the plaster stiff...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant WhispersThe vibration of the floor plates was a low, thrumming thing, a frequency that settled in the marrow of my shins and climbed the spine like a cold water leak. We were deep in the sub-basement of the containment facility, a place where the air tasted of ozone and stale copper, and the only light came from the emergency strips that pulsed with a sickly, amber rhythm. I stood before the primary...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded RuinThe gate closed behind Elias with a sound like a bone snapping. He did not look back. The iron bars were not there, of course. There are no bars in the Palace of the Aether, only light. But Elias felt the weight of them on his shoulders, a phantom pressure from a life before the glow. He was a man of stone and mortar, a builder of walls that kept the rain out. Now he was a builder of air. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded RoadThe fire took the roof first. Then the walls. Then the silence. I stood in the yard. The heat was a physical thing. It pushed against my skin. I held the coat. My father’s coat. The wool was thick. It smelled of smoke now. Before, it smelled of pipe tobacco and rain. It burned. Not the house. The coat. The flames licked at the hem. I watched. I did not move. I could not move. My legs were lead....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale MistI woke in the mist. It was not a morning. It was a state. The white fog clung to my skin like damp wool. I lay in a bed of moss. The air tasted of iron and rot. I sat up. My hands were stained green. I looked at the ferns around me. They were not ferns. They were hands. Pale, elongated fingers. They twitched in the damp dark. I am a seeker of truths. I have spent my life in the archives of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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