## The Star-Echo Weaver The rain tasted like rust. Elara spat, the metallic tang coating her tongue a familiar discomfort amidst the perpetual gloom of Atheria. Grey rain always felt like rust, clinging to everything – skin, clothes, memories. Atheria…
## The Mycelial Bloom The tremor registered a 3.2 on the Richter scale, insignificant enough to barely register on most seismic monitors. But Elias Vance, a geologist with perpetually bloodshot eyes and the nervous energy of a caged hawk, caught…
## The Seam Rain lashed against the corrugated steel roof of the observation post. A relentless drumming that swallowed everything else except the low thrum vibrating through the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots. He tightened his grip on the data…