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Owain stood in silence for a moment. He had looked at Ohlendian cultures in school, everyone had, but he had never seen one of their armbands, the modern equivalent to the armour they used to wear, some still did, refusing to show their faces. After looking from the treetop for some time, Ruth swung down, rolling on impact with the ground. “Ruth?” Owain exclaimed, kneeling to try and help her up, but she sprang to her feet with ease, “Are you okay?” Ruth gave him a searing l

The doorbell ringing was a surprise for all of the family, except for Owain. Who didn’t hear it. It was his Dad who answered the ringing speaker, watching the screen as it showed the girl ringing the apartment number, tan with dark hair, a fringe, and grey eyes, dressed like she’d been hired to play a vagrant in a musical, though maybe that was just the flatcap, a colourful metal band around her right arm. Mr. McCrawley knew she looked somewhat familiar, but not enough to be

The bombs were still falling, louder and louder by the moment. Down in the basement, Owain had lost all sense of time.

There’s this blue house, it serves as a town hall, at one point a school, always a church, or a theatre, or a market. It’s a building of many uses, but its lower floor has always been living quarters.

Clik was sitting at the back of the caravan, armoured legs dangling off the edge, as it trundled over the dusty ground. Her brows were furrowed, and a frown replaced the almost constant grin that graced her features.

It was only yesterday for him, though the calendar was exactly the same, and future was past, and past was future, and tenses were thrown out of the window.

To tell the stories of old is to sing the legacies of legends and humble folk, of man, guardian, and Ki across this great land of Racë. This story speaks of the curly-haired and bright-eyed Rosemary Bagworth, she who has never rested long enough to call one place home, and her meeting with coal-bearded and quick-minded Dugward Stonefeet, he who was yet to wander the world.

Dedicated to N. Waters, one of my best friends, and victim to rambles, pillows, and unedited first drafts.

What Lyall saw was nothing close to what he had been expecting, and even further away from what he had been ready for.

1947 TA - Ahlden "Hey, hey, look at me,” His hands were on my face, and their stark difference distracted me from the ghost hands I could...

Before time, before space, before anything one can conceive, there was Run’anor. The Father of All.

1934 TA - Ahlden Journal Entry by L. Hunt I had not been expecting too much chaos this Saturday morning. I was proved wrong by roughly...

Have you ever been lost in the woods before? On such a winters day, underneath the tall pines and their snowy white coats, with a river that’s frozen in its motion by the cold of winter’s breath.