The Ink of Forgotten Days
The press clanked like a wounded beast, its iron jaws biting into fresh paper as Elara pressed the final stroke of her block. The scent of ink and aged wood filled the cramped shop, mingling with the tang of sweat…
Revolution
Read MoreThe Ink of Forgotten Days
The Silent Cipher
The air in the attic reeked of mildew and old paper, a scent that clung to Clara’s sleeves as she crouched beneath the floorboards. Her fingers trembled, not from the chill of the draft seeping through the cracks, but from…
Ashes of the Unspoken
The first time Eleanor saw the redcoats, it was not the muskets she remembered, but the smell of burnt oak in the air. The fire had died hours before, leaving only a brittle hush over the village square. She knelt…
Chromatic Bloom
## 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 Ashfall Cipher
## The Ashfall Cipher The dust tasted like iron. It coated Elara’s tongue, a gritty film clinging to the back of her throat as she adjusted the respirator. Lunar red stained the cracked pavement, a consequence of disturbed regolith, another…
Echo Bloom
## Echo Bloom The sterile white of the Reclaimer’s chair bit into Elias Vance’s spine. Not pain, exactly. A cold insistence. He stared at the iridescent swirl blooming on the ceiling panel – the visual signature of download beginning. They…
The Static Bloom
## The Static Bloom The dust tasted like regret and old circuits. Wren coughed, pulling the rebreather tighter against her face. Above, the skeletal remains of Chicago clawed at a bruised sky, less city now than a geological oddity. Not…
The Echo Bloom
## The Echo Bloom Rain lashed against the ferroconcrete of Sector 7, each drop a tiny hammer blow. Elara huddled deeper into her threadbare coat, the damp chill seeping through despite layers of worn synthetics. She watched a Nomari courier…
The Nectar Thief
The alley smelled of static and overripe fruit. Clementine didn’t bother flinching. She hadn’t in years. Rain, or what passed for it—a chemical mist Arcadia Corp seeded to “regulate atmosphere”—slicked the corrugated metal walls. Above, the ruined skyscrapers clawed at…