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The Wistful MountainThe slate was heavy, a slab of grey schist no larger than a ledger book, and it sat in the palm of Silas Vane’s hand with the weight of a verdict. I stood in the center of the town square, the mud of Oakhaven sucking at my boots, and watched the elder turn the stone over, the chalky residue of his grip smearing against the dark rock. The wind coming off the mountain was not cold, but it carried...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MythThe gold brooch sat on the kitchen table, its clasp broken, the metal dull and cold under the gray light of the morning. Arthur turned it over in his fingers, the weight of it familiar and wrong, a piece of Elara’s past that no longer fit the present. He needed to replace it. The old one had been lost in the collapse three years ago, taken with the rock and the dust and the silence that had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant ThresholdChapter One "You are looking at the soil like it owes you money," the district director said, his voice cracking over the hum of the jukebox in the corner of the flat, a low, grinding sound that vibrated in the teeth. "I am looking at the data, sir," I replied, keeping my eyes on the ceremonial rooster in the courtyard, its feathers turning to black ash as it strutted, a local omen of betrayal...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful VoyageThe ledger lay open on the desk, its pages thick with the smell of stale ink and cold dust. Arthur Vane counted the entries for the third time, his finger tracing the column of numbers until the blur of fatigue set in. It was November, 1924, and the air in the mill office was so thin it felt like it was pulling the warmth out of his bones. He wanted the foreman’s chair. He needed it. His...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful GridThe dream is always the same, a quiet disintegration that begins at the fingertips and moves inward toward the wrist, a slow turning to ash that feels less like pain and more like a release from weight. You wake with the phantom sensation of dust on your tongue, the air in your small apartment thick with the scent of old paper and dry rot, and you know, with a certainty that borders on physical...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful ShowRamon Herrera Act I The wind off the plateau did not blow so much as it scraped, a constant, dry friction against the stone walls of the fortress colony, carrying with it the smell of salt and rot that meant the river was rising again. I held the vial in my left hand, the glass cold and slick, feeling the slight vibration of the tincture inside, a liquid that cost more than my entire annual...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded AlibiChapter One The causeway groaned under the weight of the tide, a rhythmic shudder that traveled up through the soles of Ray Roudebush’s boots as he walked the perimeter of the Meridian Processing Plant. It was a city of rust and salt, where the water rose twice a day to swallow the lower streets, leaving the upper floors floating in a fog of brine and diesel. Ray kept his eyes on the ground,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant ClueChapter One In the solar-system economy, silence is a commodity you must purchase. Yakubu Adeyemi sat in the humming archive of the Lagos Ministry, his fingers tracing the grain of a sun-faded Earth photograph taped to his desk. The north light never quite set, a physical fact that made the shadows in the room stagnant and gray. He wanted to clear his name. He needed to prove Amara did not kill...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful PetalChapter One The light in the High Court of the Mirror Realm is not something that falls; it is something that is owed, a debt of photons paid out in strict, unyielding increments that dictate the price of every hour spent in the service of the state. I am Antonio Cortes, a bonded scribe of thirty-two years, and I am sitting behind my stall in the shadow of the great terraced hills, watching the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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