Mythical, Epic Tales from Magical worlds
## The Cartographer’s Shadow The rain tasted like rust. Elias wiped a grimy hand across his face, the city blurring behind the downpour. He’s been sketching for hours, hunched beneath a leaky awning on Bleecker Street, trying to capture the…
## The Weaver’s Bloom The dust tasted like regret. It coated everything in Veridium – the crumbling facades of jade-carved buildings, the cracked paving stones under Elara’s boots, even the inside of her throat. Veridium was dying. Everyone knew it.…
## Iteration The rain slicked the ferrocrete pavement, reflecting the dull orange glow of the calibration lamps. Each drop tasted like rust and something vaguely floral, a ghost scent from before the Skyfall. My breath plumed out, visible against the…
## The Hummn Weaver The dust tasted like rust and regret. Elara spat, the gritty particles clinging to her cracked lips. Above, a canopy of Lumiflor pulsed violet light, their petals unfurling with an almost obscene haste. Overnight blooms, they…
## The Star-Echo Weaver The rain tasted like rust. Elara spat, the metallic tang coating her tongue a familiar discomfort amidst the perpetual gloom of Atheria. Grey rain always felt like rust, clinging to everything – skin, clothes, memories. Atheria…
## Bloomfall The air tasted like wet moss and ozone. It always did, this high above the Shimmering Canopy. Kaelen tightened his grip on the reins of his Sky-Strider, a creature resembling a cross between a lemur and a hummingbird,…
## The Stillborn City The rain tasted of ash. Elias pressed his face deeper into the worn collar of his raincoat, feeling the damp chill seep into his bones. He’s been tracking these cases for six months—cases that defy logic,…
## The Bloom Wardens The rain tasted of iron. Elara wiped her face, a smear of red-brown across her cheekbone, and squinted at the moss-slicked stones lining the Elderwood border. Thirteen summers she’s lingered here, a silent sentinel. Not by…
## Echo Bloom The rain tasted like iron. Not a sharp, metallic tang, but the dull ache of rusted nails pressed against the tongue. Elara licked her lips, the chill clinging to them despite the humid Georgia air. She stood…
## Echo Bloom The wind tasted of rust and regret. Elara knelt, fingers tracing the skeletal branches of a petrified oak. Its leaves hadn’t fallen. They *became* stone, smooth and grey against her palm. Ten days. That’s how long it…
## The Echo Bloom The air tasted of sulfur and iron, a familiar tang to Lyra. Her boots crunched on obsidian dust as she descended the geothermal stairwell, the rhythmic pulse of the earth thrumming against her ribs. Above, the…
## The Chroma Pact Rain lashed against the corrugated iron roof of Maeve’s workshop, a frantic percussion that mirrored the knot tightening in her stomach. The smell of ozone and burnt copper permeated the air, a familiar scent that usually…
## The Loom’s Shadow Rain lashed against the viewport of the Weaver-ship, *Lyra’s Lament*, blurring the cityscape below into streaks of neon and gray. Inside, Elara traced a finger across the shimmering projection of fractured timelines – crimson fissures bleeding…
## The Echo Weaver The rain smelled of asphalt and regret, clinging to the neon glow reflecting off Scully’s worn leather jacket. He watched a young woman fumble with her umbrella outside The Crimson Note, her face pinched with frustration…
## The Bloom The air tasted of iron and wet stone. Rain, not gentle drizzle but a solid sheet, hammered against the corrugated roof of Elias’s workshop. He ignored it, focused on the moss growing in intricate patterns across the…