## 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…
## The Static Bloom The salt spray tasted like iron, clung to Maya’s eyelashes. Three sunrises bled into one another on the horizon – a bruised violet, an angry ochre, and the dull ruby of K’tharr. She hadn’t slept properly…
## Echo Bloom The rain tasted like static. Not unpleasant, precisely, but leaving a metallic bloom on the tongue. Old Man Tiber, perched on the rusted hull of a freighter salvaged from before the Lift, spat a brown fleck into…