Paths Crossing Novels & Stories

It was on the corner. Specifically the corner of two roads that formed a crossroads. Old ones. The kind that had been there before the city grew around them, before the buildings went up and the streetlights came in and the map got crowded with everything modern cities accumulate. The kind of crossroads that appeared in enough of the texts she had been quietly reading lately to register as something other than coincidence. Crossroads as thresholds. As places where the distance between the ordinary world and the one operating beneath it became thinner than elsewhere.

Like what happened when they passed through the forest that time. They passed a river with a big current, they jumped over some big rocks to cross. This is not the path they went on…it seems like they are taking a new route…Randu had some doubts, where are they really going? But Burdak looks calm… so she shouldn't be afraid, right?

"May I walk across it?" "Of course." One of the engineers hurried forward. "We'll accompany you." The wooden planks echoed softly beneath my feet. I slowed often, studying the work as carefully as I could. Truthfully... I knew very little about building bridges. So instead of pretending otherwise... I asked questions. "How many people use this crossing?" Samuel answered immediately. "Nearly everyone from the eastern villages." "They bring produce to the market." "The children use it during the school term." I looked down at the river below.

Calculated silence POV: Ava Ava stood on the curb, staring up at the glass-paneled tower of the Cross Foundation. The afternoon light made the building glitter, all sharp angles and intimidating steel. For years she had walked past places like this, knowing she was only ever invited in as someone’s daughter, someone’s pawn. Never herself. But not today.

What if fate has planned the opposite of what I planned? Fate has the power to rearrange every arrangement, and accidents happen… right? The loud screeching of tyres and honking horns jolted me back to reality, freezing me in fear. I had just stepped into the middle of the road when the traffic light was still green! My brain screamed loudly, telling me to run, but my body failed to obey the command — my knees were weak, and before I knew it, I collapsed. It happened so fast — the screeching, the honking, my fast paced heartbeat — all silenced by a loud crash!

“Walk with me” “I thought you came here to talk” “Keep up” I paid for my coffee as she crossed the road, I caught up in no time, our shoulders brushed as we walked side by side, it was really peaceful but I couldn’t swallow past the lump in my throat. “Do you remember this park” I stared at the closest park to our homes, we always came here when we had issues, when we didn’t want to go home or we needed an escape. “Do you remember the memories?”

“If the pass walks someone in, they will be walking in without the tool unless they have another we have not seen.” “Then we assume they have another,” I said. “Or they are coming to place one. The post will not give them the chance.” The afternoon was spent on the ground between the river town and our border. The woman’s trail from the farm band had gone cold in the night. The pass itself had never been shown at any gate we could ask. It was still only a line in a neutral office ledger and a description that could fit too many people on the road. I sent two closed pairs to the roads that fed our outer posts, not to close those roads, only to watch for anyone who moved like they expected a p

"What do you mean?" "The mist." Caius knelt, running his fingers across the damp earth. "It changes." Nobody understood. He stood again. "The Ashen Pass isn't a normal place." "You already told us that," Damon muttered. "No." Caius looked toward the graves. "I didn't tell you the worst part." Silence. "The Pass doesn't always let people walk the same road." A chill swept through the group. "You can walk beside someone..." He looked toward where Grayson had vanished.

Every so often, a crow cawed overhead — like a reminder that life was already reclaiming what war had tried to erase. And still, the mark pulsed. It didn’t stop until we reached the river crossing. The water there was murky, running faster than usual, carrying the remnants of the last storm. I stopped on the bank and crouched down, dipping my fingers into it. The instant the cold hit my skin, something flashed behind my eyes — a vision, sharp and sudden. Fire. Blood. And a voice — the Luna’s again — whispering: “The bridge is not a path. It is a wound.”

Emeridia had become a city where the strength of its bridges was measured not only by their physical structures but also by the unity and harmony they fostered. One particular bridge became a symbol of their efforts—the Bridge of Understanding. It spanned across a once-divided neighborhood, serving as a tangible reminder of the transformative power of connection and understanding. The Bridge of Understanding stood as a testament to the city's commitment to healing wounds and bridging divides that had long separated communities. It was a place where residents from different backgrounds could come together, exchange stories, and build relationships based on empathy and respect.