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Wild engine Mistscout Gallerycrest
The village of Gallerycrest lay nestled in the arms of the Grayvale Hills, where the fog never seemed to lift. From dawn until dusk, the mist clung to the cobbled streets, seeping through windows, swirling around lantern posts, and curling like pale smoke over the rooftops. The villagers had long grown accustomed to it, though outsiders found it eerie and oppressive. They said the fog was alive—an old superstition, whispered by travelers who never lingered long enough to learn otherwise.
But in Gallerycrest, the mist was more than atmosphere. It was history, memory, and myth. They called themselves the Mistscouts for good reason, for the fog concealed secrets, paths, and ruins that only the most daring or skilled could navigate. Every child of Gallerycrest grew up hearing tales of hidden cities, ancient machines, and nameless guardians veiled behind the endless whiteness. Most grew out of those stories. A few, however, never did.
Elira Korrin was one of them.
At seventeen, she was tall for her age, with ash-brown hair that she often tied in a knot at the nape of her neck to keep it from tangling in the damp. Her eyes were sharp gray, like the mist itself, and always searching—as if the world might reveal something to her if she only stared hard enough. She had lived her whole life in Gallerycrest, but her heart never accepted its quiet boundaries. While others felt trapped by the fog, she felt drawn by it, as though it called her toward something forgotten.
But in Gallerycrest, the mist was more than atmosphere. It was history, memory, and myth. They called themselves the Mistscouts for good reason, for the fog concealed secrets, paths, and ruins that only the most daring or skilled could navigate. Every child of Gallerycrest grew up hearing tales of hidden cities, ancient machines, and nameless guardians veiled behind the endless whiteness. Most grew out of those stories. A few, however, never did.
Elira Korrin was one of them.
At seventeen, she was tall for her age, with ash-brown hair that she often tied in a knot at the nape of her neck to keep it from tangling in the damp. Her eyes were sharp gray, like the mist itself, and always searching—as if the world might reveal something to her if she only stared hard enough. She had lived her whole life in Gallerycrest, but her heart never accepted its quiet boundaries. While others felt trapped by the fog, she felt drawn by it, as though it called her toward something forgotten.
47 pages, Kindle Edition
Published September 27, 2025
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