The Hollow Veil
Kael traced the inked lines of the map with a calloused finger, the parchment crackling under his touch. The air in his workshop reeked of aged paper and smoldering tallow, the scent mingling with the metallic tang of iron from…
Lost City
Read MoreThe Hollow Veil
The Echo Bloom
## The Echo Bloom The rain tasted like pennies on Leo’s tongue. He hunched deeper into the doorway of Mrs. Petrov’s antique shop, the neon sign buzzing a frantic lullaby above him. It was late October in Portland—that particular damp,…
Silas
## Whispers of Stone Dust devils danced across the cracked earth, mocking Elias’s efforts to coax a single stalk of corn from the parched soil. The Nebraska sun beat down, relentless, turning the air thick and heavy as a wool…
The Glass & the Ghost Light
## The Glass & the Ghost Light The chipped enamel of Esme’s mug warmed her palms. Rain lashed against the corrugated iron roof, a drumbeat mirroring the thrum in her skull. She traced the hairline fracture spiderwebbing across the porcelain,…
The Sunken Chorus
## The Sunken Chorus Dust motes danced in the amber light filtering through the stained-glass dome of Elias’ workshop. The air smelled of polished wood, brine, and something older—the faint ozone tang of celestial current. He ran a calloused thumb…
Echoes of Aethelburg
The salt spray tasted like regret on Alure’s lips. Years adrift hadn’t strengthened bone, only honed edges. They traced the glyphs carved into the driftwood, fingers thin as spider silk. The wood warmed under their touch, not from sun, but…
The Severed Flow
The grit tasted of regret. Ada spat, the fine red dust coating her tongue like a second skin. Eldan hadn’t just *fallen* to the storms; it had been *eaten*. One moment, carved sandstone buildings gleamed, the next, swallowed whole by…
The Echo of Aethel
Dust motes danced in the single shaft of light slicing the gloom of the archive. Old Man Tiber, hunched like a question mark over a brittle scroll, traced a finger across faded ink. The parchment felt like dried skin under…
Stone and Echoes
The dust tasted like old pennies. Old pennies and regret. Kaelen traced a fingertip across the basalt face of a crumbling sentinel. It wasn’t stone, not exactly. More like…compressed night. The air hummed, a low thrum against his teeth. He’d…