Silo Novels & Stories

Those people have no soul. I tried to look for how to escape but I couldn't. There's a small window but it has silver bars on it, and werewolves can't touch silver. I can't go out. I'm stuck here, but I don't want to give up I have to do something. I can't stay here forever. I hear the bolt of the door move. I bet those rascals are here to give me my breakfast.

I slipped through the broken side door and crept down the row of old planters until I found the back storage crate. One knock. Pause. Two knocks. Pause. One more. The wood creaked open. “You again?” a voice whispered. Old, raspy, familiar. “You’re late, girl.” “Yeah, well,” I said, breathless, “I’m out. I need more. Now.” The man—Silo—stepped into the dim moonlight. His white beard caught the glow, making him look like a ghost from some forgotten time. He used to be a healer. Now he was the academy’s most discreet rule-breaker.

siphoning the destructive, jagged cold of the Weaver’s knot and transforming it into a controlled, constant chill. "The Ridge has always had an abundance of heat," Silas remarked, his brow furrowed as he threaded a heavy silver wire through a loom. "But we’ve always struggled with preservation. The meat lockers, the medicines, the delicate herbs Lady Mira sends us—they spoil too fast. We are constantly fighting the heat."

Gem spits while standing beside mom who is shaking "Haahaa oh yeah we can see you need breaking in, well don't worry cheery pie there's plenty of us whos willing to oblige, and as for this chocolate muffin," he says nodding to mom "well i don't usually like them older but Mmmmm i think ill have a bite of this one",

"The safety purges inside the core are completely immobilized by the cold, Silas. The thermite triggers won't fire at this temperature. The data is entirely stable." Silas walked down the iron steps from the observation platform. He had rolled his shirtsleeves down. His dark silk vest was unbuttoned enough to give him room to move. His stormy gray eyes carried an unyielding intensity. He didn't look at the vault. He stepped into her space. His large hand came down over her shoulder to gently pull her back from the frame.

Almost. I was helping Silas organize supplies in one of the storage buildings, a cavernous space filled with dusty boxes, engine parts, and the faint smell of oil and old leather. Outside, I could hear the distant clatter of tools and muted shouts as the others worked on whatever mechanical monstrosity they were building or tearing down today.

Riven was already in front of us, blades drawn, eyes burning blood-red against the dim. Silas.... He wasn’t moving. Not forward. Not toward the exit. He stood backward, toward the collapsing edge, shoulders trembling under the weight of shadows writhing over his skin like living ink. “Silas?” I shouted over the roar. His head tilted just enough for me to see one eye, void-black, and wrong. “A barrier,” he rasped. “They sealed us in. Only a siphon can break it.” Kyren cursed. “Don’t do something—”

the Silas-Sentry boomed. The sound was like a mountain groaning. The towering white giant before me raised his blade of sterile light. This wasn't the Silas who had whispered poetry to me in the dark of the Kernel. This was a ten-story monument to corporate order, his body a polished, featureless marble that reflected the chaos of the city with a cold, mocking clarity.

Down at the Oakhaven Cove marina, the air was thick with the scent of wild sea roses, sun-baked cedar docks, and roasted coffee beans. The small, white-painted office of Sanctuary Logistics had undergone its own quiet expansion. A new timber wing had been added to the side of the structure to house two new local data terminals, but the minimalist cedar sign—Sanctuary Logistics—still hung proudly above the door, catching the morning light. Inside, the atmosphere was a bustling hive of honest, local commerce.