Crossroads Novels & Stories

The crossroads appeared at dusk on the seventh day of exile. Four paths met beneath an ancient gibbet, its iron cage still occupied by whoever had last offended local authority. The corpse was too decayed to identify. It could have been highwayman, heretic, or simply someone who'd asked the wrong questions.

He stirred the fire until it burned hotter, more light pushing back the dark. “What is it?” he asked, only when her breathing had evened out. “We have stories,” she said. “About things that live between. Not here. Not… wherever here isn’t. Tall. Fair. Beautiful. Terrible. They like crossroads, Edges. People who don’t quite belong to one world or another.” “Ashford lodge in the woods with a Beacon inside it probably counts as an edge,” he said. “Yes,” she said. “We call them different things in different tongues. Tamawo. Other names. It doesn’t matter which one it is. They all like to bargain.”

The world moved forward around them, oblivious, but some lines had already been crossed — lines that could never be uncrossed. Amaka’s absence hung in the air, a quiet, persistent reminder of mortality and the darkness that had already touched their lives. And in the midst of exams, prayers, and fleeting laughter, it became clear: for some, the game had only just begun.

Only memory, rebalanced. "Three roads," he whispered. She nodded. "And others will follow." They didn't need to know where any of them went. Not today. Today, it was sufficient to know they had walked in. --- 7:11 AM — Sector R, Boundary Weave Crossing The crossing was not broad, but it was tiered: silkcord braids along tension beams, sewn with bits of flags originally flown for district designations. Those now indicated but change. Renewal. Resilience.

A tiny figure shot out from the shadows in the hallway, crashing into my arms. "Daddy!" Naomi cried, clutching my shirt as she buried her tiny face against it. "I missed you so much, Daddy… Please don't leave again…" I froze where I stood, my hand resting on her soft hair. My fingers brushed the curls—her natural waves, just like mine—and something in my stomach fluttered ever so slightly. When I looked up, Willow was standing near the stairwell, holding a bulging canvas bag. Stray hairs fell across her forehead, tousled by the wind.

He knew he couldn't stay in the celestial realm, but stepping through this gateway would take him away from the only familiar world he had known. "What awaits me on the other side?" Alex asked, trying to brace himself for the unknown. "A realm full of opportunities, challenges, and the chance to forge your own path," Lysandra replied. "However, I must warn you that the Crossroads is a place of both wonder and danger. It is a world where various factions, some with sinister intentions, coexist." "I won't let my guard down," Alex said, determined to face whatever lay ahead.

Surely there must be something else that she could do. She had to cross over a bridge that spanned a large fork of Muddy Creek and through a wooded area behind her house. Though Lamar was being settled fairly rapidly, the area right behind the Pike house had yet to be occupied, mostly because of the creek and the fear of flooding. Still, it was easier for Cordia to make her way from Susannah’s house through this little scenic area than to stick to the city streets. The little narrow footbridge that crossed the creek here was one of only four bridges that spanned this waterway that encircled the town from the northwest. There was one more just as narrow a few miles down the stream and then tw

Three days later, they reached Three Crosses, the last neutral town before the border split. It was a messy, loud place, built where three roads met, no one pack’s law holding full sway. Traders yelled over carts of wool and iron, and dried fruit. Dogs slept in the dust. Children chased each other between barrels. No one bowed. No one moved out of the way unless you almost ran them over. It was the closest thing to normal any of them had seen in months.

The landscape mirrored their internal state – battered, exposed, waiting for the next storm. Two hours later, Winters slowed, turning onto an overgrown track barely visible in the gloom. It wound through dense, dripping forest before opening into a clearing dominated by a crumbling, gothic-looking stone building – part manor house, part decaying hospital. A faded red cross was barely visible on a boarded-up window. ‘The Crossroads’ looked less like a sanctuary and more like a set for a horror film. Winters killed the engine. The silence was profound, broken only by the drumming rain and Reynolds’s labored breathing. **<< Wait. >>** He slipped out, vanishing in

There was nothing special about room 3c–except that ‘He’ always locked the door behind him, even during lunch. I only noticed because I always passed by at exactly 12:04. Today, the door was open. He seemed to be in some kind of trance as he made his way past me into the busy hall way, clutching something under his jacket and checking over his shoulders, curiosity won over common sense and now here I was–in the woods–watching my crush of over a year dig a shallow hole in the frozen earth.