Short Fiction
Benjanun Sriduangkaew

That Rough-Hewn Sun

They take a circumspect path through the city, down tight alleys where seers’ familiars—moths and wasps, dragonflies and detached mandibles—can relay what they see to snipers stationed at high windows. Lussadh watches Crow, their gait, their bearing. Solid, easy. If they are aware or afraid of the snipers, they show none of it. But then they would not. Kemiraj has never welcomed an enemy emissary. The empire destroys or takes; it does not negotiate. There are no treaties—never have been. Until now.

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Short Fiction
Benjanun Sriduangkaew

The Prince Who Gave Up Her Empire

Terasadh arrived in the world with a force so abrupt that the resin womb holding her split in two, cracking as she took her first breath and cried out from the shock of being alive.

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Short Fiction
Benjanun Sriduangkaew

The Beast at the End of Time

As the world marches toward the guillotine of its finale, the sleeping beast shakes loose the slats of its painted unthought and licks the tang of dénouement from its fangs. It stirs upright on trembling ligaments, clad in starvation and rust.

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