0 Comments
0 Shares
0 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Golden QuestThe bell rang. It was a sharp, metallic scream that cut through the sterile white air of the processing floor. I stopped moving. My hands were full of raw, gray meat, slick and cold. The smell was thick. It coated the back of my throat. It was the smell of iron and rot. I looked down. My fingers were trembling. Not from the cold. The floor was heated. I looked at the man next to me. Elias. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ShieldYou walk. The road is hard. The mud is deep. You walk because you must. You do not ask why. You ask only how far. The forest is thick here. The trees are old. Their branches twist like broken arms. The light is grey. It filters down in thin, cold sheets. You feel it on your face. It is not warm. It is never warm. Your armor is heavy. It clinks against your leg. It bites into your shoulder. You...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale CircusThe glass shattered not with a bang, but with a sigh, a long, crystalline exhalation that seemed to pull the air out of the room and leave it cold. It was a Tuesday in late October, the kind of day where the sky hangs low and gray over the smog-choked rooftops of Millhaven, and Elias Thorne knew, with the sudden, visceral certainty of a man who has been holding his breath for decades, that the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden OathThe rain has been falling on the precinct roof for three days, a steady, gray sheet that turns the gutters into a river of mud and rust. You stand at the edge of the interrogation room, watching the water streak down the glass, and you feel the weight of your badge against your chest, not as a symbol of authority, but as a stone in your pocket, heavy and cold. The air inside is stale, smelling...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostThe banquet hall was a cavern of white linen and low, humming voices, the air thick with the scent of roasted duck and expensive perfume. At the head of the long table sat Captain Elias Thorne, a man whose uniform fit him like a second skin, tailored to hide the tremor in his hands and the hollows beneath his eyes. He was a master of control, a soldier who had learned to kill with the same...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GardenThe rain fell like a verdict. It struck the wet asphalt of the alley with the persistence of a debt collector. Elias stood beneath the awning of the closed laundromat, his shoulders hunched against the chill. In his hands, he held the object. It was a brass astrolabe. Or perhaps a compass. The distinction had blurred days ago. The metal was warm. It should have been cold. It was not. Elias...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant LegendThe light was wrong. It came through the slats of the shutter, cutting the room into thin, dusty ribbons. Elias stood in the center of them. He held the rifle. The wood was cold against his palm. The metal was colder. He checked the bolt. It clicked. A small, dry sound. It was the only sound in the world. The room was a cellar. Or a basement. It didn't matter. The walls were concrete. Gray....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarThe road to the Abbey of St. Jude was not a path but a wound in the earth, a long, gray scar that the rain had swollen into a slurry of mud and broken stone, and it was upon this unforgiving track that Elias walked, his small boots sinking deep into the mire with a sound like a wet cough, each step a laborious negotiation with the gravity that seemed to pull at his bones with an almost...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ShadowsThe rain did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain drawn tight against the windows of the St. Jude’s Orphanage annex. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of damp wool, boiled cabbage, and the metallic tang of old fear. Margaret Holloway sat at the head of the long oak table, her fingers interlaced, her knuckles white. She was not a woman who shouted. She was a woman who waited. For...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek