## The Bloom Wardens The rain tasted of iron. Elara wiped her face, a smear of red-brown across her cheekbone, and squinted at the moss-slicked stones lining the Elderwood border. Thirteen summers she’s lingered here, a silent sentinel. Not by…
## The Static Bloom Dust motes danced in the perpetual twilight of Aethel. Not sunlight filtered through the glass canopy, but a diffused glow from the bio-lums woven into its structure. They pulsed with an uneven rhythm, mirroring the erratic…
## The Static Bloom Dust motes danced in the single shaft of light slicing through the gloom. Elouise traced a finger across the unfinished cheekbone of her latest sculpture, clay cool and yielding. It was supposed to be a boy,…
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…