## The Weaver’s Dust The wind tasted of iron and regret. Elara pressed a hand to her throat, the gritty film clinging stubbornly. Another day bleeding through the village of Briarwood. Thirty-two days since the miasma first rolled in, a…
## The Dust Collector’s Daughter The hum vibrated through Eia’s bones. A low, constant thrum from the Nexus Harmone enclosure, a sound she’d known since infancy. She traced a finger along the polished obsidian wall, cool against her skin. Numbers…
## Dustfall The wind tasted of iron and something else—something old, like dried leaves pressed between the pages of a forgotten book. Elias ran a gloved hand over the corrugated metal wall, feeling the faint tremor beneath his palm. Project…
The dust tasted like regret. Fine, ochre powder clung to my tongue, coating the back of my throat with a grit that mirrored the weight in my chest. I watched Veridia shrink beneath the grey, and it wasn’t a romantic…