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 ScarThe soot did not merely settle in the foundry; it inhabited the lungs, a black silt that coated the tongue and turned the air into a thick, breathing entity. Elias Thorne stood before the crucible, his hands trembling not from the heat, but from the silence that had grown so heavy it pressed against his eardrums like deep water. He was a man of iron and precision, a master smith of thirty-four...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden FarceDid you think the ink would stop at the nib? The cold in Melbourne was not a temperature but a debt, a heavy, low-hanging cloud that pressed against the glass of the telegraph office where I sat, my hand trembling over the half-erased slate. I was thirty years old, a collector of debts with a limp in my left leg, and I was trying to write a cure for my brother, Thomas, whose lungs were failing...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MasterChapter One "You have put the wrong name on the line, Min-seo." The voice of Councilor Park hung in the recycled air of the archive bay, heavy and cold as the scrubland wire that lined the outer hull. Min-seo Hong did not look up from the tablet. His stylus hovered over the genealogical chart, a digital map of the ship’s founding families, stretching back a hundred years to the first launch. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded MasqueradeThe ledger on the desk counted out the days in red ink, each stroke a small wound in the parchment. Sir Aldric stared at the total, the number for his sister Elara’s medicine, and felt the cold damp of the Duke’s hall seep through the leather of his boots. He was forty years old, and his armor, once the pride of the northern marches, now rusted with the specific, flaking orange of poverty....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TowerThe name was spoken by the gatekeeper, a man whose breath smelled of damp wool and stale tobacco, and it sounded like a summons to a debt I had not yet paid. "Mr. Thorne, the Lord is expecting you," he said, his voice flat and devoid of the warmth that usually preceded such a greeting. I adjusted the collar of my coat, feeling the roughness of the wool against my neck, and stepped past the iron...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded Road"Stop touching the vellum, Elias." Your fingers are still on the page, trembling against the rough, fibrous surface of the twelfth-century parchment. You pull your hand back as if burned, though the skin is only cold. Sarah stands in the doorway of the archive, her arms crossed over her cardigan, her expression a mask of professional disinterest that barely conceals the sharp edge of concern in...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale ShadowsThe trowel struck the mortar with a sound like a bone breaking, sharp and final, as Elias Thorne counted the fourth crack in the eastern boundary wall. He was forty-two, though the archivist’s life had worn the years off him like water off a river stone, leaving him smooth and hard and strangely empty. The St. Jude’s Monastery sat on the edge of the moor, a place where the light came in thin,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MirrorThorne. The voice cut through the haze of the dream, sharp as a piece of flint against glass. You opened your eyes to the grey light of the Chicago dawn, the shop air thick with the smell of sulfur and old sweat. Your right hand, the one that had been floating in a vat of molten gold in your sleep, lay still on the workbench, the skin tight and pale, the knuckles swollen from years of holding...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant PromiseThe parchment lay flat on the stone table, its edges curling inward like the lips of a dying flower, and Elias Thorne read the final line for the third time, his eyes burning with a dry, stinging heat that had nothing to do with the candlelight flickering in the damp cellar air. It was a writ of expulsion, signed by the hand of Master Aldric, the steward, declaring Elias an outsider whose...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek