The Scribe Who Read the Clouds
Chapter 12 · free to read
Midnight was forty minutes away and the water was at their ribs. Every plan they had ever made had been made on dry stone.
A forecast broken with nothing near it falls on the breaker. So he gave it something nearer than either of them.
Not a name of a person. The name of a thing: the sluice-bolt that had drowned this room. Cho's rite, worked by an apprentice with a cut hand, on a wall in the dark.
The sky answered eleven feet of water and a stone ceiling. It should not have been able to. It answered anyway.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.