The starter's pistol had not yet fired, and already Cobb Maddren was being laughed at. He stood on the observation deck of The Patched Pelican — his airship, his home, his inheritance — and watched the crowd below point and snicker. He couldn't blame them, really. Lined up along the launch rail at Valenport Aerodrome, … Continue reading Full Steam Ahead
Short Fiction
Where Two Rivers Meet
The longbow in Astrid's hands was wrong. She knew it the moment she drew the string back — the pull too stiff, the arrow's fletching too long, the whole instrument built for a different kind of sky than the one she'd grown up under. Her mother's people made their bows short and curved, suited for … Continue reading Where Two Rivers Meet
The House on Vellum Street
The Carvers arrived on a Tuesday, which Claire would later think was significant. Not a weekend move, full of optimism and pizza boxes and friends making jokes about your furniture. A Tuesday — gray and still, the kind of day that doesn't commit to anything. The house at 14 Vellum Street was beautiful, in the … Continue reading The House on Vellum Street
The Smoke of Progress
The morning sun cast long shadows across the Nile, but Nefertari barely noticed. She stood on the palace balcony, watching black smoke rise from the foundries along the eastern bank—pillars of soot that stained the sky where once only temple incense had climbed toward the gods. Three years ago, those factories hadn't existed. Three years … Continue reading The Smoke of Progress
The Last Dance of Valdoria
Sir Waylon of Greenhaven had rehearsed this moment a thousand times. The cave mouth yawned before him like the gateway to the underworld, which, he supposed, it might very well be. His armor—still too new, too shiny—caught the morning sun as he dismounted. The horse whinnied nervously, sensing what lay within. "Stay here, Tempest," he … Continue reading The Last Dance of Valdoria
The Weight of Knowing
The coffee shop buzzes with Tuesday morning energy, but Maya Morrison keeps her hands wrapped firmly around her ceramic mug, fingers never straying beyond the safe boundary of its warm surface. She's claimed the corner table again—the one with its back to the wall where she can see everyone coming and going. The barista, a … Continue reading The Weight of Knowing
The Confusing Middle 