The Static Bloom
## The Static Bloom Dust motes danced in the single beam of Elara’s headlamp. The air, thick and cool, smelled like wet earth and something older – decay barely contained. She traced the whorled pattern on a fossilized leaf, its…
Old Man Tiber
Read MoreThe Static Bloom
Static Bloom
## Static Bloom The chipped Formica of the diner booth felt cold under Elias’s forearms. Rain hammered against the plasteel windows, blurring the neon glow of “Stella’s Fuel & Feed.” He hadn’t touched his synth-coffee. The scent of burnt protein…
The Static Bloom
## The Static Bloom The chipped ceramic mug warmed Elias’s hands, the bitter chicory scent barely cutting through the damp cellar smell. Rain lashed against the single high window, each gust a percussion note against the stone. He traced the…
The Cartographer’s Bone
## The Cartographer’s Bone Dust tasted like regret. Old Man Tiber, they called him, though no one knew his real name anymore, coughed it up with every wrench of the lever. The machine groaned, a metallic lament against the flat…
The Static Bloom
## The Static Bloom Old Man Tiber, they called him. Not out of respect. More like…acknowledgement. He’d topped the charts in ’98 with “Static Bloom,” a synth-pop anthem everyone remembered vaguely, like a half-dreamt melody. Now he was 52, wrinkles…
The Sunken Chorus
## The Sunken Chorus The chipped ceramic warmed Maya’s palm. Not with heat, exactly. More like a thrumming silence. She traced the spiral grooves etched into its surface – not by hand, she suspected, but *grown*. It felt…familiar. Like a…
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…
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…
The Lighthouse Keeper’s Secret
The salt spray tasted of regret. Old Man Tiber, they called the lighthouse, though no one remembered a man ever tending it. Just the mechanism, grinding gears and a lens the size of a carriage wheel. It sat on Widow’s…
The Skyfall Echoes
The peaks clawed at a bruised sky, broken teeth against the fading light. Dust devils danced across the shale, ghosts of arguments long settled. Old Man Tiber, they called me, though I hadn’t earned the name through age. It was…