Wilbert Turner III
Stories (2)
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Liminal Limit
Liminal Limits Falix had spent his life navigating the gaps of prophecy. Like all dragons in his fleet, he had been gifted with a hint of precognition, a sort of sixth sense that certain strands of the universe were headed his way. He knew better than to strain too hard against the shades of fate. If he dreamed of storms, he flew for shelter. When the wind started whispering that some of his cave mates were primed to start stealing Falix’s food, he struck out on his own. So when he came across the child in the forest, he knew he should have left it behind. He knew that the child would have it’s soul ripped away by the necromancers that hunted it. The child would fight, Falix knew that for certain. Because this was no ordinary toddler. No, Falix recognized him as Tozon the godling, youngest member of the Boaxan divine pantheon. Or, more accurately, the last member of that pantheon. The necromancers had burned the shining city the Boaxans called home, and stolen all their power. It was an apocalypse long foretold, and the dragons knew better than to intervene, even though many of them had liked the Boazan gods. Killing little Tozon, was the final step in a ritual that took decades to create, and Falix should have left him there. Instead the three year old god rode atop his back, high above the trees.
By Wilbert Turner III3 years ago in Fiction
The Buzzard Star
There were a million rules when it came to jetpacks, but the first one was very simple: Never fly into a thunderstorm. In his younger days, Orin had been good at following the rules, but now, as he soared into the dark clouds, he knew there was no turning back.
By Wilbert Turner III5 years ago in Fiction
