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The Distant LegendThe dream was of teeth. Not human teeth. Deer teeth. Small, broken, scattered in the snow like white pebbles. I woke with the taste of iron in my mouth. My hand went to my hip. The leather was there. The wood was there. The weight was there. My name is Silas. I am a man who holds a weapon. I hold it because I am a hunter. I hunt the wolves that come from the deep woods. I hunt the men who come...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden GreenhouseThe rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a fine, gray mist that clung to the stone walls of the Keep like wet wool. Elias sat in the corner of the Great Hall, his back against the cold masonry, watching the water stain the floor. He was not cold. He was never cold anymore. The fever had taken the shivering from him weeks ago, leaving behind a stillness that felt like sleep without the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale AltarThe banquet hall in the village of Oakhaven was not built for joy. It was a stone throat, high and vaulted, designed to swallow sound and hold it still. For the centennial of the Border Guard, the tables were laid with white linen that looked like snow on a frozen field. The air smelled of roasted lamb, spilled wine, and the metallic tang of old swords mounted on the walls. Elias Thorne sat at...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SkylineThe rain in Oakhaven did not fall; it hovered, a grey suspension of mist that settled into the pores of the skin and the crevices of the stone. I stood at the edge of the town square, my coat heavy with damp, watching the water drip from the eaves of the clock tower. My name was Elias, and I had been a detective for twelve years, a long enough time to learn that the world was a series of locked...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale ShadowsThe alarm did not ring. That was the first wrong thing. It was a Tuesday, or a Wednesday, but the day of the week had ceased to matter when the lights in the office went out at 9:14 in the morning. There was no siren. No screech of tires. Just a sudden, total silence, followed by the soft, wet thud of bodies hitting the carpet. Elias sat at his desk, hands flat on the wood. He was an...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden RitualThe dinner service had been set for six, a deliberate excess that spoke to the lingering habits of a man who had once expected the world to accommodate his appetite. Arthur Penhaligon stood in the center of the dining room, his spine rigid against the mahogany table, while his daughter, Elara, moved with the precise, mechanical grace of a surgeon around the silver platters. The air in the house...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded GuestThe rain fell in silver sheets. It lashed the mud of the valley. Elias walked. He walked with a heavy heart. The mud sucked at his boots. He was a clerk. A small man. He carried a ledger. The ledger was wet. The pages were soft. He held it tight against his chest. He walked toward the old house. The house stood on a hill. It was white. It was rotting. The windows were black. They looked like...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale AltarThe rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the bruised purple sky, a thick, viscous curtain that swallowed the neon reflections of the city streets and turned the asphalt into a mirror of shattered lights, and in that grey, weeping world, Sergeant Elias Thorne stood at the center of the intersection, his uniform sodden and clinging to the architecture of his aging frame like a second,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant MetropolisThe ink did not dry, it settled, a viscous black sludge that pooled in the microscopic valleys of the parchment, a substance that seemed to possess its own gravitational pull, a gravity that tugged at the very marrow of Elara’s bones as she hunched over the oak table in the center of the workshop, the air thick with the scent of crushed walnut husks and the metallic tang of dried blood, which...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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