The Wistful Ashes

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 22:44:21 -

The Wistful Ashes

The fog did not lift. It thickened. I walked through it like a man through a river of gray milk. The air tasted of iron and old smoke. My name was Elias. I was not a hero. I was a prisoner. The city was gone. Not destroyed. Absorbed. The buildings stood, but they were hollow. The windows were eyes that saw nothing. The streets were rivers of ash. I walked north. Always north. Toward the source....

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