The Wistful Voyage

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 09:14:29 -

The orchid was dying. It sat on the steel table, its petals turning the color of bruised flesh, its leaves curling inward like fists. Silas stood before it. The air in the room was thin, recycled, tasting of ozone and old copper. He was a man of the border, a keeper of lines that should not be crossed. His uniform was dark, cut from a fabric that absorbed light, a uniform of the old world, now...

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