## The Chromatic Bloom Rain hammered the corrugated steel roof, a relentless percussion against Elara’s world. A damp chill clung to her skin despite the unnatural heat blooming from the firestarter paper clutched in her hand. The paper didn’t burn…
## 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 Glacial Echo The wind tasted like frozen needles, biting at Elara’s exposed cheeks as she wrestled the supply crate onto the snowmobile. Each grain of ice glittered, a thousand tiny mirrors reflecting the bruised twilight. Her balance swayed…
The rain tasted like metal and salt, slick on Elisse’s skin. It hammered against the corrugated iron roofs of Ossa Bay’s marketplace, a rhythmic percussion that blended with the creak of wooden carts and the guttural calls of merchants hawking…