Speculative Fiction

The neon-soaked streets of Neo Shanghai pulsed with their usual frenetic energy, but Zara Chen felt a different kind of electricity crackling through her veins as she stared at the lines of code scrolling across her holo-screen. Her fingers hovered over the keys, trembling slightly as the weight of her discovery settled over her like a shroud. “This can’t be right,” she muttered, pushing a strand of jet-black hair behind her ear. But the evidence was there, clear as day in the strings of data she’d uncovered. Mayor Dominic Voss, the charismatic leader who’d promised to usher in a new era of prosperity for their gleaming metropolis, was siphoning millions from the city’s coffers into private accounts. ...

Mira Kessler squinted against the harsh glare of sunlight on snow as she surveyed the jagged peaks looming before her. Everest’s infamous northeast ridge stretched upward, a serrated blade of rock and ice piercing the cloudless blue sky. She took a deep breath of thin air, willing her racing heart to slow. This was it. Her shot at redemption. “Beautiful day for climbing,” remarked Dr. Ethan Cole, coming to stand beside her at the edge of advanced base camp. His salt-and-pepper beard was frosted with ice, eyes hidden behind mirrored glacier glasses. ...

Zara Voss wiped the sweat from her brow, leaving a smear of dirt across her forehead. She squinted at the shriveled tomato plant, its leaves curled and browning despite her best efforts. The greenhouse was stifling, the air thick with humidity and the sour smell of decay. “Mom!” Ren’s voice echoed from outside. “Mom, come quick!” Zara’s heart leapt into her throat. She dropped her trowel and rushed out of the greenhouse, blinking in the harsh sunlight. “Ren? What’s wrong?” ...

The scarecrow stood motionless in the withering cornfield, its burlap face turned toward the setting sun. Mira paused at the edge of the rows, her fingers trailing over brittle stalks. Something about the scarecrow’s crooked smile made her uneasy, like it knew a secret. “M-Mira!” Her mother’s voice carried from the farmhouse. “Time to come in!” Mira sighed, giving the scarecrow one last wary glance before trudging back across the dusty yard. The screen door creaked as she entered the kitchen, where her mother stood at the sink peeling potatoes. ...

The willows wept silently along the edges of Elmhaven, their long branches drooping as if burdened by an unseen weight. Mira Thorne paused at the town’s weathered gate, her basket of herbs clutched tightly against her chest. The usual bustle of the market square had dwindled to a haunting quiet, broken only by the occasional cough echoing from an open window. She quickened her pace, eyes downcast to avoid the suspicious glares of the few townspeople still brave enough to venture outdoors. The hem of her worn green cloak caught on a loose cobblestone, nearly sending her sprawling. Mira righted herself with a soft curse, checking to ensure none of her precious cargo had spilled. ...

The wind howled through the craggy peaks of the Stonespine Mountains, carrying with it the scent of pine and the promise of an early winter. Lira Stoneheart pulled her weathered ranger’s cloak tighter around her shoulders as she made her way along the treacherous mountain path. Her boots crunched on loose gravel, each step carefully placed to avoid a potentially fatal slip. Seventeen years of patrolling these peaks had honed Lira’s instincts to a razor’s edge. She could read the mountain’s moods in the way the mist clung to the valleys or how the wind whispered through the ancient pines. Today, something felt off. A tension hung in the air, prickling at the back of her neck. ...

The humid air clung to Mira’s skin as she stepped off the rickety bus onto the dusty road. Adjusting her backpack, she squinted at the sun-baked village before her. Wooden houses with tin roofs lined the single dirt street, their faded paint peeling in the relentless heat. Chickens pecked lazily in front yards, while a few curious faces peered out from behind tattered curtains. This was it. After months of planning and paperwork, she had finally arrived in Santa Rosa, deep in the heart of the Peruvian Amazon. The potential for groundbreaking botanical discoveries here was immense. If only she could find the elusive Dr. Alejandro Vega. ...

Jake Sullivan stepped out of his beat-up Chevy, stretching his aching back after the long drive. The scent of pine and damp earth filled his nostrils as he surveyed the small cabin nestled among towering evergreens. This would be home for the next few months—a writer’s retreat to finish his novel and escape the chaos of city life. He grabbed his duffel bag from the trunk and trudged up the worn path to the cabin’s weathered porch. The key was right where the rental agency said it would be, tucked under a faded welcome mat. Jake unlocked the door and stepped inside, floorboards creaking beneath his feet. ...

The wind howled across Frostpeak’s jagged face, carrying ice crystals that stung Lira’s exposed cheeks. She paused in her ascent, pressing a gloved hand against the mountain’s frigid surface. Though she couldn’t hear the mountain’s groans and creaks, she felt them resonating through her bones. Kovo’s gruff voice cut through the gale. “We should turn back!” he shouted, his words lost to Lira’s ears but clear in the exaggerated movements of his wind-chapped lips. “Storm’s getting worse!” ...

Lyra’s hand trembled as she raised the ornate quill. Its iridescent feather shimmered in the candlelight, betraying the power contained within. She took a deep breath, willing her fingers to steady as she lowered the nib to the parchment. “Miss Thornwood.” Professor Aldric’s stern voice cut through the silence. “You have but one chance. The oath you inscribe will bind you for life. Choose your words with the utmost care.” ...