“Lumbering mounds of ice the size of houses hung suspended on the surface of the water, moving millimeters in millennia. Even in the biting cold, they melted faster than they slid.

"Black and brown fields swayed in the distance, though the girl felt no breeze. The surface of the water was flat - a reflective plane of disorienting symmetry. Up and down was a matter of perspective on the shoreline, not a matter of truth. Ice crystals formed in her eyebrows as she slowly exhaled.

"The sun never set these days. It floated in the sky like a transient bird, held at bay by powerful winds. Perpetually drawn to the horizon, the ball of radiant light leaned to barely kiss it for a moment’s embrace, but it hung suspended, lofted a finger’s width above its love. The days were long, but the girl didn’t much mind.

"Her thick canvas parka coated in a thin sheen of mist and ice crackled as she...

She stood alone on the cliff. Pebbles fell onto the murky shoreline below. Above, the clouds hung heavy, saturated with month’s of rain. Lightning lanced in the distance. The sea slowly receded. It did not return.

For days, the water had slipped back, leaving only a subtle sucking noise in it’s place. The brooding clouds had come when the water left. At first, people had gathered on the shore, concerned about the loss of the tide. Days followed and less appeared.

They knew what was to follow. There were stories. Legends.

Her silk gown hung limply on her thin frame. It was cold. Wind had not blown through her hair for seven days. The sun had not warmed her bones for just as long. Well-worn laugh lines smoothed out with the weight of what was to come.

There had been talk of leaving the island, of building boats and sailing to the mainland. The young and rebellious had tried. She...

As the train rushed out of the station with a noisy clack and electric sizzle, he stopped running and stood on the platform breathing heavily.

He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes, feeling the rush of air as the cars shuddered past. The dirty air swirled around him, stifling him, but all he could think of was the rag-top that took him to work years before. The years before this city. Before this godforsaken train.

The platform didn’t stay empty long. Older women pulling carts full of vegetables sat at the benches. Spry younger men in their crisp business suits and women in dresses and yoga pants lined up by the yellow line. The digital placard read: HYDE SQUARE 2 MIN. He tried to remember the last time a train arrived on time.

She was listening to Top 40. For all the crazy tempos and false sentimental lyrics, it somehow relaxed her after a long day. None of it was necessarily...

The landscape was barren - otherworldly. Blackness clung to the ground like an inky blanket, hugging smudged black sand, decaying vegetation, and sharp, frigid snow. When the wind died down, there was only silence; when it didn’t, the wailing and howling whistled in his ears.

Warm blood pumped through his veins and the exhilaration of solitary exploration pulsed through his body - the heavy down jacket and snow pants helped keep out the oppressive cold too. Each hand was covered with dense mittens lined with scratchy wool; each hand held an ice axe for scaling the glacier ahead.

This late in the winter it was hard to see when night turned to day and vice versa. The sun truly only came out for a span of 4 hours, then it dipped beneath the horizon once more, plunging the northern landscape into an impenetrable darkness. It was a comforting darkness though; he reveled in it.

His...

Storm clouds besieged the horizon, launching volleys of hot red and purple lightning intermingled with swirling ice and snow. The moss and heather had gone brown only a few weeks ago; the temperature dipping sharply. The wind howled constantly these days, whipping decayed branches and thick dust across the landscape. Winter snarled like rabid animal; it set upon them with fury and would not relent for many months.

Their feet were wet, soaked by the freezing wetlands that fed the Tribe of Ships’ farmlands. Oria, wrapped in her black bear fur - a trophy she earned with her bare hands - was chilled, but did not shiver. She flicked the blade of her axe, running her thumb across its edge. It was sharp - it would kill many invaders.

Oria and her thousand clansmen slogged through the marshes, marching into a shallow valley between two snow-capped peaks. The natural gateway to their realm...

Floundering. Her flailing hands were floundering. She groped for the surface as the refracted sun disappeared, further from reach every second. The water slipped through her fingers. She grasped for the ascending bubbles, hoping to hold one and ride to the surface. The weight was enormous; her limbs moved frantically, though constantly down. The water clutched her throat and pressed the breath, pressed life from her.

And then it was over. She opened her eyes and she was dry. The choking pressure of water was gone.

In fact, all water was gone.

She was laying on the bottom of a lake. Not a drop of water. No dead fish. The lakebed was dry, though the seaweed and algae still swayed with the current that was no longer there. The pier she had been pushed off was next to her, solid timbers well worn. She sat up and untied the socks full of stones from around her ankles and wrists. She...

“We used to sit together and watch the planes takeoff. We’d lie on our backs under the stars vignetted by the sick orange glow of the city around us. The trees on top of that little hill did their best block the city from us, but there was little to be done.

"Every night, we’d watch the blinking red and green wingtips and wish for our own. We would guess the airline or the destination. We’d describe the businessman furiously typing an email or the snuggling couple excited for their honeymoon.

"No matter where they went, we knew that it was a trip filled with joys - little or big joys didn’t matter.

"We always promised that someday, some magical day, we would be the ones on the plane, looking out that tiny window. We’d search for our little hill ringed with elderly trees and smile, knowing that dreams do come true. Maybe beneath those canopies would be another couple, just like us...

There’s a ticking, clicking, scratching that reverberates through Alec’s head. It had once been a hum, but that was long ago.

He never really discovered why he heard these usually indistinct, yet bothersome noises; he only knew they occurred quite frequently. At times the hums or clicks would form patterns that sounded like words. They tended to be innocuous.

After some time, Alec realized that no matter how the hums - now clicks - arranged themselves, or whatever words they formed, they tended to speak to the heart of his desires. For example, when he was hungry, the noises tended to lean towards food, tapping out in his skull something sounding like sandwich.

For years he had followed the strange noises because they made sense. They were always in tune with Alec and always looking out for him.

This may be the primary reason that while sitting in Mr. MacGowen’s office, Alec didn’t...

Read Part 1 here.

Albedo

Mr. Lantham had been wandering about town as he was known to do when an intense white light pierced the midnight sky. It had been sudden, like the flash of magnesium, yet it lingered for nigh on a minute or two. It was a blinding, blistering white light, but Lantham felt drawn to it. He traced his way through the crooked closes and streets of Edinburgh to find the light’s source.

Before the light ultimately fluttered in intensity, Lantham stopped outside an elegant row house with a glowing second-story awash in an ungodly bright light. He knew the home very well, he had dined there a multitude of times - it was the home of his fellow alchemist and colleague: Orrin Caraday.

At once, Lantham knocked on the door to Caraday’s home and was greeted by Mr. McGregor, Caraday’s butler.

Unfazed by the extravagant blast of light and the late hour, McGregor greeted...