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The Golden DowntownThe cage was a gilded thing, absurdly bright against the soot-blackened cobblestones of the town square, and inside it the golden pheasant paced with a frantic, trembling energy that seemed to vibrate in the air itself, its plumage a riot of copper and green that caught the weak, filtered sunlight of the industrial morning. Mayor Halloway stood on the makeshift platform, his face flushed with...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant TempleThe hand was always wet. It lay on the kitchen table, palm up, the wrist severed cleanly at the carpal bone, the flesh pink and glistening in the dim light. Elias woke with a gasp, the taste of copper thick in his mouth. He was forty-two, and he had been dreaming of his father’s hand for twenty years. He sat up in the narrow bed of his studio apartment, the sheets twisted around his legs, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale PathThe inkwell sat in my palm, heavy and cold, the glass etched with the name of a man who had died before I was born. I held it until my knuckles turned white, the liquid inside still as a black mirror. Outside, the wind tore at the eaves of the Oakhaven Mill, a sound like tearing canvas that had become the background noise of my existence. I was Elias, forty-two years old, a clerk with a cough...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant WhispersThe stone was warm in my left hand, a smooth, dark thing no larger than a walnut, yet it hummed with a vibration that traveled up my wrist and settled behind my eyes like a headache. I stood before the crumbling stone keep of Oakhaven, the wind whipping off the moor and biting through my tunic, while behind me the village elders stood in a tight, silent circle, their faces drawn tight with a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded RootThe dampness in Oakhaven did not smell like rain; it smelled like rot, a sweet, fungal decay that clung to the stone walls of the Guild Hall and seeped into the pores of everyone who worked there. Elias stood before the desk of Master Thorne, his fingers trembling as he placed the sheaf of parchment on the wood, his tongue aching with the familiar, itchy prickle of the Root. He wanted only to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MasterThe paper was thin, yellowed at the edges, and smelled of old tobacco. Elias held it with his right hand, his left arm hanging limp by his side, a golden prosthetic that hummed against the cold air. It was a letter from the Ministry, stamped with the black seal of the Iron Guard. It stated that his discharge was denied. It stated that his augmentation was a state asset. It stated that he was to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale PathThe letter lay on the mud-slicked desk, its ink smudged by the damp that seeped through the estate’s rotting floorboards. Arthur Vane read it once, his eyes tracing the jagged script of Colonel Halloway, and then he set it down beside the cold cup of tea that had gone skin over the last hour. He was thirty years old, though the war had aged him into a man who looked forty-five, and he stood in...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MirrorThe sledge crossed the frozen moor with a grinding, rhythmic shriek that seemed to tear at the winter air, carrying Elias Thorne toward the isolated stone walls of the Abbey of St. Jude, where the Great Horologe stood as a monument to time’s relentless, indifferent passage. Elias was forty-two, a man whose hands had shaped brass and steel into mechanisms of such precision that he had secured...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant JokeYour hand trembled as you held the tongs, the iron slick with sweat, the heat from the pyre below a physical weight pressing against your shins. The smoke did not rise so much as it coagulated, a thick, grey fog that swallowed the upper tiers of the cathedral square, choking the gulls that had nested in the flying buttresses until they took flight in a sudden, screaming panic. You were...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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