The dust motes danced in the single shaft of light piercing the ruined temple. It smelled of wet stone and something else…something like burnt honey and regret. Old Man Tiber, they called him, though he wasn’t *that* old—more weathered, like…
The rusted gate groaned open, spitting flakes of silver paint. Six of us. Six mistakes Silverthorn Prep hadn’t bothered filtering out. Rain slicked the manicured lawns, reflecting the gothic spires like broken glass. We weren’t supposed to *be* here. Not…
The slick, obsidian tide crept up the cracked plasteel of Fremont Street, reflecting the fractured neon of a dying city. Rain wasn’t water anymore, not here. It was data – corrupted, fragmented, *wrong* – leaching from the ruptured servers beneath…
The scent of beeswax and rosewater clung to Antoine like a second skin. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight slicing through the gloom of his workshop, illuminating a half-finished glove—ivory silk, almost translucent. He didn’t sell warmth,…
The harbor buzzed with activity under a dusky sky as lanterns flickered in rhythm like restless fireflies. In the distance, tall ships stood majestically against darkening hues while bustling townsfolk moved below their shadows. Samuel Hawkins peered from behind crates…
Discovery In the bustling town of Willow Creek, nestled between rolling hills and shimmering lakes, twelve-year-old Lily Monroe lived in an old house with her grandmother. One sunny afternoon, while rummaging through Grandma’s attic amidst dusty trunks and cobwebbed corners,…
The year was 1765. In the bustling town of York, nestled among cobblestone streets and thatched-roof cottages, stood a humble weaving shop known for its exquisite silks. Owned by Master Weaver Thomas Bennett, this little haven bore witness to an…
The Arrival Captain James Whitmore stood at the helm of The Seraphim, her sails taut against the wind as she cut through the Atlantic. His eyes scanned the horizon—starry night reflected in deep blue waves—as if he could divine his…
Act 1: The Discovery & Isolation The rain in Seattle was a constant, grey companion. Elias Thorne found a certain comfort in it, a mirroring of the relentless data streams that consumed his life. He’d spent the last five years…