Kanwalash
somewhere between dreams and reality
Recent posts
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A journey of hope
Elias Thorne lived in a city of granite and glass, in a small apartment that held his big dream. From his window, he could see the glittering spire of the Astral Gallery, the city’s most prestigious art museum. Ever since he was a boy, holding a crayon for the first time, Elias had dreamed of seeing his paintings hang there. He’d whisper it to his reflection: “One day, I’ll have a whole wall.” But…
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girl builds beautiful life
Lena’s life was a composition of gray. It wasn’t that it was terrible—it was quiet, dutiful, and small. She lived in a beige apartment with a beige carpet, worked in a cubicle that hummed with fluorescent light, and her dreams felt like they were wrapped in layers of thick, muffling wool. The word “beautiful” seemed to belong to other people: people in magazines laughing on sailboats, or artists i…
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***The Librarian of Whispers***
The last bell in the library of Atwood House was not a bell at all, but the sound of Elias Thorn sliding a particular book—a heavy, leather-bound volume of forgotten maritime law—back into its slot on the third-floor mezzanine. The resulting thud echoed in the cavernous silence, a permission for the old building to sleep. It was Elias’s ritual, the final duty of the Head Librarian. He descended th…
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the fighter girl drops ghosts in space
She was born Aris Thorne, but the circuit knew her as "Cinder." The name wasn't for her fiery red hair, but for what she left behind: the smoking remnants of her opponents’ pride. The neon-lit underbelly of the city of Veridia didn't have rings; it had The Pits. Illegal, holographically enhanced combat zones where gravity was a suggestion and the only rule was "don't kill the audience." Cinder fou…
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the cartographer of lost countries
## The Cartographer of Lost Countries Elara had always been able to see it in the cracks. Not Mundania—the greyscale, sensible world of bus timetables, tax returns, and instant coffee—but the shimmering edges of other places. As a child, she’d glimpsed the cobalt spires of a city called Veridian through the steam of her mother’s iron. She’d seen the amber glow of a forest where the trees sang in t…
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the last man who looked up
#The Last Man Who Looked Up The sky over Theopolis was a beautiful, meticulously managed lie. From within the domed city, it presented a predictable, soothing spectacle. At 0700, a gentle azure blush, tinged with coral. By midday, a crisp, photorealistic cerulean dotted with fluffy, algorithmically-generated cumulus that never threatened rain. Sunset was a twenty-minute masterpiece: rose gold bled…
