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The Golden MythThe wind did not howl in the valley of Oakhaven; it whispered. It slipped through the chinks in the stone walls of the abbey, a cold, dry breath that smelled of damp moss and old parchment. Elara sat on the cold floor of the scriptorium, her back against the wall, her hands resting in her lap. They were not her hands. Or rather, they were her hands, but they belonged to a body that had been...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded DustThe iron spearhead had not yet struck the stone of the throne room floor when I first saw the light, a blinding, white fracture that split the air like a scream held too long in a throat, and I stood there, my scholar’s robes heavy with the dust of a thousand forgotten libraries, my hands trembling not from fear but from the terrible, exquisite weight of the truth that was rushing into me, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden QuestThe rain fell on the cobblestones of Whitehall like a fine, grey ash. It slicked the black stone until the world lost its edges. I walked. My boots echoed. The sound was hard. It was lonely. I carried a letter in my breast pocket. It was warm. It was heavy. It was the only thing that mattered. My name is Elias Thorne. I was a captain. I am a man now. The distinction is a wall I built. I built...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded MasqueradeThe mist in the valley did not behave like water or vapor but rather like a living, breathing thing that knew the shape of your bones before your feet touched the cold, wet grass of the morning. You stood at the edge of the old stone wall, the one that separated the king’s private orchard from the wild, untamed heath, and you felt the weight of the silence pressing against your eardrums, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AshesThe rain fell in sheets of iron. It hammered the stone of the ramparts. I stood by the gate. My hands were cold. My heart was stone. Behind me, the city slept. The lights of the Citadel burned. They were yellow. They were harsh. They cut the dark. I watched the mud. It slicked the road. It reflected the sky. The sky was black. The sky was full of stars. No, not stars. Embers. I was a Warden. I...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant GardenThe train leaves at dawn. You watch the tail lights blink. Red. Steady. Gone. You are leaving. Elise is already gone. Or so the city says. The paperwork is signed. The name is struck. You are not her husband. You are a suspect. The air tastes of iron. The factory bell rings. One. Two. Three. You walk to the bridge. The water is black. Still. Who are you? You are Thomas Bradshaw. You are the man...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant SummerThe seal on the envelope was cracked, a jagged white line across the crimson wax that looked less like a break in the metal and more like a fracture in a bone. Arthur held it in his hands, the paper cool and damp against his palms, while the rest of the office hummed with the low, electric buzz of the air conditioning. It was a Tuesday in late October, the kind of day where the light through...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale DoorThe ink on the parchment had not yet dried when the first crack appeared, a thin, jagged vein of white that split the signature of the Arch-Justiciar across the center of the document. Elara watched the fissure spread with a cold, detached fascination, as one might watch a frost flower form on a winter windowpane. The room was silent save for the low, rhythmic thrumming of the castle’s ancient...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant JokeThe banquet hall smelled of roasted lamb, rosemary, and the metallic tang of fear, a scent that clung to the velvet drapes and settled into the pores of every guest who dared to sit at the long oak table. At the far end, Lord Ashworth presided over the feast like a king who had forgotten that he was merely a man, his face a mask of polite indifference while his eyes, cold and sharp as flint,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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