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The Golden ScarThe rune in your hand is heavy, a slab of obsidian no larger than a man’s thumb, yet it weighs as much as the winter that is currently breaking against the shutters of the watchtower. You are Caelen, the last Warden of the Glyphs, and you have held this stone for three days without sleep, watching the ink bleed from its fractured center into the creases of your palm. The village of Aethelgard...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AtlasThe ink was drying at a rate of four minutes per sheet, a fact Elias Thorne had measured with a pocket watch that cost more than his weekly wage. He counted the sheets on his desk: forty-two, each one a grid of lines that defined the border between the Kingdom of Aethelgard and the restless territories to the north. Outside the window of his cramped office in the stone fortress of Kael, the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful IncenseThe ledger sat in Elias Thorne’s hands, its leather cover cracked and stiff with age, smelling of dust and old ink. It was a heavy thing, dense with the weight of forty years of service that would soon end in a modest pension if he could just prove the Chancellor’s fraud. He was a court archivist, a man who lived by the weight of paper and the silence of files, and for the last three months, he...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant WoundThe ledger was breathing, a slow, wet expansion of the spine that Elias felt in the soles of his feet before he saw it, a rhythmic thumping that matched the pulse in his own temples which had been hammering since the dawn shift began. He stood in the center of the Ministry of Memory, a windowless cube of damp stone where the air tasted of iron filings and old paper, the smell so thick it coated...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded AlibiElias Thorne held the ledger in his hands, the leather cover cold and stiff against his palms. The book was small, bound in a dark material that had cracked with age, and it smelled of damp paper and iron. He sat at his desk in the town hall, the fluorescent lights humming a low, constant note above his head. For fifteen years, he had ignored the faint blue glow that emanated from the final...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden QuestThe letter was on my desk when I arrived at 8:02 a.m. It was a standard Meridian Insurance Group memo, cream-colored stock, three pages long. It denied my transfer request to Duluth. The reason cited was "essential personnel needs in the Chicago hub." I signed for it. I put it in the bottom drawer with the other denials, the other forms, the other pieces of paper that weighed nothing and meant...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AshesThe rain in Oria did not fall; it descended, a heavy, grey sheet that turned the cobblestones into slick mirrors of the city’s decay. Elias Thorne pressed his back against the damp brick of the alleyway, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps that tasted of ash and copper. He was thirty-two years old, a sergeant in the Bureau of Order, and he was currently fighting for his life against a man...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AtlasThe wrench slipped, the steel tip skidding against the rusted housing of the antenna mast, and the sound it made was a shriek that cut through the silence of the field station like a wire snapping under tension. Elias Thorne steadied the tool, his knuckles white, the grease from his hands smearing across the cold metal, a dark map of his own labor. Outside, the wind howled against the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MasterThe chalice sat in your palm, its gold cold and heavy as a lead weight, the tarnish darkening the rim where your sweat had pooled. You held it against the damp wool of your coat, feeling the vibration of the mist that swirled around your ankles, a living thing that breathed in the valley of Oren. It was nearly dawn, and the High Court waited on the ridge, a dark spire cutting the grey sky, but...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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