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The Wistful PetalThe hand wrapped around the cracked gramophone record, the vinyl grooves digging into the palm like a promise that had already broken, as Kofi Lawan stood in the center of the server room, the digital hum of the new archive vibrating through the soles of his shoes. He was fifty-two, and his knees, which had been failing him since the winter he cut the last block of ice for the clinic, now ached...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden QuestThe ring sat in Elias Thorne’s palm, heavy as a river stone. It was his father’s, a gold signet with a cracked onyx face, and it felt wrong in his hand, denser than metal should be. He rubbed his thumb over the groove, feeling the grit of the Chicago cold that had seeped into his skin from the floor mops. Three days until the eviction notice turned him out of the apartment. Three days to find...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded RootThe fluorescent lights of the Ministry’s basement laboratory hummed with a frequency that seemed to drill directly into the marrow of my bones, a sterile, white void where the air tasted of ozone and old paper, and I woke with my hands stained a bruised purple by the iridescent residue of the Faded Root, a fungal specimen that had been whispering my dead wife’s name, Mara, in a voice like dry...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CrossroadsThe fog in Aethelgard did not rise from the ground so much as it seeped out of the cobblestones, a cold, grey breath that smelled of wet iron and old paper. Silas Vane, a border warden of thirty-four years, stood at the head of the Watch Tower, his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white. He was not there to watch the horizon for raiders; he was there to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CartographChapter One Tesfaye Nyembo’s fingers, stained with the grease of the motor works assembly line where he had spent his youth, now hovered over the carbon copies in the Ministry’s restricted wing, the air heavy with drying wind that split the fruit on the highland slopes outside the window. He was thirty-two, and the vial of amber liquid in his breast pocket hummed against his ribs with a low,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CampusThe ledger was sweating again. I wiped the damp from the spine with a dry cloth, but the moisture returned instantly, cold and slick as river mud. My hands trembled. The tremor had started three days ago, a fine vibration in the metacarpals that made the fine-point pen jump off the page. I am Elias Thorne. I am thirty-two years old. I need this book finished by Friday. If I do not finish the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded GuestThe letter lay on the oak table, its seal broken, the ink still dark and wet as if the quill had only just lifted from the parchment. It was a notice from the High Council, brief and cold, reminding me that the Winter Solstice was three days hence and that the Warden of Oakhaven Keep must present the Heart of the Moon for consumption before the moon reached its zenith. I read it twice, my...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant AffairThe chisel bit into the granite with a sound like a knuckle cracking, and Elias Thorne felt the vibration travel up his forearm, settling in the marrow of his elbow with a dull, aching weight that had nothing to do with the physical labor. He stood in the center of the St. Jude’s Cathedral restoration workshop, the air thick with the fine, powdery dust of stone and the metallic tang of old...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden RitualThe letter lay on the oak desk, its seal broken, the parchment yellowed by the damp air of the scriptorium. Elias Thorne read it twice, his eyes scanning the technical specifications for the new ledger binding, then a third time for the clause on compensation. The Guild demanded a tithe of ten percent of his output, a standard fee for the use of their reagents, yet the document specified that...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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