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 dream was always the same, a shimmering liquid gold that pooled in the hollows of his fingers, warm and heavy as molten lead, but when Brother Thomas woke in the scriptorium, the cold bit into his knuckles with the sharp precision of a knife. He sat up, the scratch of his wool tunic against the stone floor sounding like a groan in the silent dark, and looked at his left hand, the bone of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MountainThorne. The name hung in the air, thick with the smell of machine oil and wet wool, as Magistrate Vane leaned over the ledger on his desk. Elias stood by the window, his fingers wrapped around the cold iron sill, watching the valley below where the mist clung to the river like a shroud. He wanted the debt gone. He wanted the silence in his house to stop sounding like a held breath. The mountain...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden RitualThe scanner head shrieks, a high-pitched digital wail that cuts through the hum of the air conditioning. You jam your thumb against the red stop button, but the mechanism is already grinding, the glass platen vibrating under the weight of the 1994 zoning map. It is three in the afternoon, and the Municipal Records Bureau is a tomb of beige carpet and stale coffee, the only movement coming from...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarThe counter on the radio clicked. One. Two. Three. Elias Thorne watched the numbers climb, a metronome for his own pulse. He had been on watch for six hours. The snow fell in thick, wet sheets, erasing the wire mesh of the border fence until it was just a gray smear against the darker gray of the sky. His breath fogged in the air, a small cloud that vanished before it could reach the cold steel...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterThe oak chisel sat in Elias Thorne’s palm, its handle worn smooth by three decades of sweat and grip, the steel edge dull from use but heavy with the weight of lineage. He held it up to the light filtering through the workshop window, watching the dust motes dance in the beam before setting it back on the bench where it had lived since his father’s hands last touched it. Outside, the October...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CrossingThe heavy, rusted bolt in Elias Thorne’s hand felt cold, a solid piece of iron that grounded him against the damp chill of the cellar air. He was forty-two, a man whose spine had been straightened by twenty years of border patrol duty, and he stood now in the mud-choked basement of the abandoned Thorne estate, the very house his family had built with their hands and lost to the bank. The rain...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden RitualThe oak staff sat in my hands, cold as a river stone, its bark rough against my calloused palms. It was a heavy thing, dense and dark, carved from a tree that had died before my grandfather drew his first breath. I held it up to the grey light of the inn’s window, watching the grain shift in the dimness. The wood whispered. It did not speak in words, not exactly. It hummed, a low vibration that...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ThresholdThorne, you are making a nuisance of yourself. The voice of Dean Alistair Vane cut through the low, persistent hum of the east wing, sharp and cold as a scalpel drawn across skin. Elias Thorne stood before the oak desk in the Dean’s office, his hands trembling slightly as he held the leather-bound dossier, the paper brittle and yellowed from decades in the dark. The office smelled of beeswax...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded MasqueradeThe whistle blew, a long, ragged shriek that tore through the soot-thick air of Blackwood, and with it came the voice of Foreman Halloway, barking Elias’s name like a command to a dog that had been sleeping too long on the porch. Elias Thorne stood by the great iron gates, his hands rough and dark with the dust of the machinery, listening to the crunch of boots on the gravel and the distant,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek