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 Faded ShieldChapter One Could a man who was already half-dead still save a child? Renard Laraque stood in the soot-choked basement of the textile mill, the air thick enough to chew, and watched the blue sap leak from his crushed vial, soaking into the torn sleeve of the boy, Josué, whose face had gone the color of old ash. Renard was thirty-two, a foreman with a berth mortgage on the generation ship...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MistYui Nakagawa remembered the weight of the iron stakes before he remembered his own name, a heaviness that lived in the marrow of his left hand, the same hand that had held the surveyor’s compass for twelve years until the colonial office stripped him of his title and his pension, leaving him only the memory of the line that was supposed to hold the world together. He woke in the single room of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MountainChapter One Haruto Yoshida, thirty-four, packed his kit with hands that shook from cold and caffeine, the radio crackling a static that sounded like a human voice trying to scream. I had served twelve years on this border, my life’s work reduced to a reverse mortgage and the fine print of a contract I no longer understood. The outpost was crumbling, the wood splintering under my grip as I...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale GardenGrief in the industrial north was a bureaucratic error, a line item to be corrected by the state. Armas Heikkinen, twelve years old and trembling in the rotting kitchen of the estate, understood this only when Mr. Vainio, the municipal caretaker, stepped over the body of his mother Elina and looked at the boy with the flat, assessing stare of a man appraising a damaged fence. The air in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ChronicleThe heavy gold band sat in Elias Thorne’s palm, cold as the cellar stone, its surface fractured by a hairline crack that seemed to pulse with a faint, rhythmic heat. He was forty years old, a clerk for the Blackwood estate, and he had spent the last six hours in the damp dark beneath the manor, watching the ink in the master ledger bleed back into the paper like fresh blood. The light from the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RoadChapter One The caravan city hummed with the low, persistent grind of millstones, a sound that soaked into the damp wool of every coat worn in the Fens, where the water sat heavy and black beneath the oak woodlands. It was a season of hoarded grain and sharp, biting winds, the kind that stripped the color from the sky and left the air tasting of iron and wet mud. Edna Hutchins stood at the edge...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CellarThe air in the cellar tasted of wet clay and old iron, a scent that clung to the back of Saad Malik’s throat like a physical weight. He sat on a stool that wobbled slightly, his back pressed against the cold stone wall, the flickering light of a single oil lamp casting long, trembling shadows across the pages before him. The manuscript, known locally as the Golden Cellar, lay open on a wooden...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GardenI The pen hovered over the silk, a needle poised to pierce skin that was not skin. Ewa Grabowski knew the weight of the instrument, the specific gravity of her debt, and the way the chill rose from the cellar floor to settle in her lower back. She had been a comms relay hermit for twelve years, listening to the static of a charter no one had read, but today she was a textile inspector,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ShowI was scraping the rust off the iron beam when the voice started. It was not a sound that entered the ears; it was a pressure behind the teeth, a wet, grinding repetition of I failed you. The attic of the Teixeira lighthouse was sealed, the air heavy with ozone and dried ink, a cold so sharp it bit into the bone. I am Alberto Teixeira, a scribe for the port, and I had come to copy my brother’s...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek