Fantasy

Cave Painting. AI-Generated.
A fist goes flying into the face of Rubis, the sheer impact sending him flying back and crashing down hard on the sandy terrain. Several taller young volkin boys surround the battered youngster and cackle at his misfortune with jabbing jeers to add insult to injury. The one that landed the punch that grounded him sneers in post victory and demands that the younger volkin stand up and face he and his crew. Daring his words, Rubis stood up on weary legs. He wipes away the blood from his lips on the back of his hand and resumes a fighting stance. With balled fists up and stark eyes squared on the bullies, Rubis readies himself.
By Kelly Johnsonabout 5 hours ago in Fiction
How would an alien invasion look like? Part 2
As told in the first part of the story, an alien invasion would unfold without large battles, with humanity overwhelmed not by brute force but by systemic collapse designed from orbit. Humanity becomes collateral damage, displaced, suppressed, or extinguished by environmental and technological interventions, not direct warfare.
By Aurel Stratanabout 7 hours ago in Fiction
How would an alien invasion look like?
I’ve been reading all important articles about the 3I/ATLAS with mixed feelings. I’d love Avi Loeb to be right about the technological nature of this object — this way I would become an eyewitness of the biggest discovery of all time; but I also hope its origin is natural, because I am sincerely freaking out about aliens.
By Aurel Stratanabout 7 hours ago in Fiction
The Lunar Lord. AI-Generated.
There is a story that has been passed down from generation to generation amongst the zuxia. This story tells of a lord that was said to be the God of the lunar. This God, however, was not like the other Seven Gods. It was believed that he was the very same God that fell into the world and shattered it. This God is known to be the very father of corruption itself so the story is not often spoken about, however, whispers still get around that this Lord of the moon is still worshipped till this day.
By Kelly Johnsonabout 7 hours ago in Fiction
The Lun Brothers. AI-Generated.
There is a story that originated from the Zuxin Island telling a tale of two dragon brothers. It is believed that the dragons were created by a unnamed God that dwelled amongst The Seven, but remains unknown till this day. This unknown God created the dragons of Ein, but, unlike the dragons of fable, they did not look as such. The image of the dragons are still left to wonder, leaving mortals with only depictions and speculated images of what they once looked like. After the cataclysmic fall of Malacath, which caused the break of the world to transpire and corruption to exist, the dragons became heavily corrupted which altered their makeup. They were changed into large lizard-like demi-Gods whose size ranged from the heights of the heavens themselves, down to the simplest of scalies. They had sharp horns adorn their heads and along their jaws and limbs. They had leathery wings with a wingspan that could encapsulate the entire sky and eclipse the sunar, basking the world in total darkness.
By Kelly Johnsonabout 7 hours ago in Fiction
The General's Dream. AI-Generated.
General Aldarius winds up accidentally saving the elkai prince who joined the army and ends up in the war with the volkin. The boy, age seventeen, is almost killed before General Aldarius comes to his rescue. Sensing that the boy didn't belong, he questions how the would be prince managed to get in the army in the first place. The prince explains that he joined the army because he wanted to prove to himself and his father that he was something more than just someone who sat in the background of life. He wanted to be more active. General Aldarius doesn't catch on that the boy is the King's son yet until the King himself issues a distress alert across the nation that his son has gone missing. Putting two and two together, this "random" boy who joined the elkai army happens to be the same boy that the King is looking for. He goes to question the boy once more about who he was and why he was in the army in the first place. The boy confesses that he is indeed the King's son and even though he lied about his identity, his reasons for joining the army remained true.
By Kelly Johnsonabout 7 hours ago in Fiction
The Last Message on Seat 23B
When the plane landed, everyone jumped up at once. Seatbelts clicked open. Bags dropped from overhead bins. People were already checking their phones, already somewhere else in their minds. I stayed seated. Because the seat next to me—23B—was empty. It had been empty the whole flight. And now, sitting right in the middle of it, was a phone. For a second, I just stared at it. Maybe someone had forgotten it. That happens. I reached for it so I could hand it to the flight attendant. The screen lit up the moment I touched it. One message. I wasn’t trying to read it. But the words were already there. “If you’re reading this, I didn’t make it.” I froze. My stomach tightened in a way I couldn’t explain. I looked around the cabin, suddenly aware of how quiet it had become. Almost everyone had already walked off. A flight attendant waited near the door. The seat beside me was still empty. No jacket. No bag. No sign that anyone had ever been there. Just the phone. I Shouldn’t Have Looked… But I Did I told myself it was none of my business. But I couldn’t put it down. I opened the messages. There were dozens of them. All sent during the exact hours we were in the air. Each one to someone different. A sister. A coworker. Someone saved as “Mom.” None of them were dramatic. That’s what made them worse. “I’m not scared anymore. I just wish I had said everything out loud.” “Please don’t be angry at anyone. This was my choice.” My hands started shaking. I remember thinking, This feels too private. I shouldn’t be here. But I was already there. At the bottom of the thread was one message that hadn’t been sent. Just a draft. “If someone finds this, please tell them I was grateful for my life. Even the hard parts.” I sat there longer than I should have, holding something that didn’t belong to me… and somehow felt like it did. The Seat That Had No Name I finally stood and brought the phone to the gate desk. “Someone left this on the plane,” I said. “Seat 23B.” The agent typed for a moment, then frowned. “No one was assigned to that seat,” she said. I laughed nervously. “That can’t be right.” She turned the screen toward me. Every seat had a name. Except 23B. My chest felt tight in a way I couldn’t explain. “Could it be someone who missed the flight?” I asked. She shook her head. “No last-minute changes. That seat was empty.” I went home that night with the phone still in my bag. I didn’t know why. I told myself I’d turn it in the next day. But I couldn’t stop thinking about those messages. So I charged it. Who She Was Once it turned on, everything felt heavier. There was a calendar reminder. A hospital app. An email. The subject line stopped me cold: “Hospice Admission Confirmation.” Her name was Elena. She was 26. Terminal. In the notes app, I found something she had written: “I just wanted to sit in the sky one more time.” That was it. No long explanation. No dramatic goodbye. She had booked a ticket, come to the airport… and never boarded. She had left the phone behind. Not for attention. Not for sympathy. Just so someone—anyone—would know she existed. Why She Left It There was one final note in her drafts: “I don’t want speeches. I don’t want people to say I was brave. I just want one person to know I loved being here, even when it hurt.” I sat on my bed, holding a stranger’s entire ending in my hands. She hadn’t wanted to disappear without a witness. And somehow… that witness became me. Giving Her Back to the World I contacted the numbers in the phone. Her sister answered. She cried when I explained where I found it. “She said she didn’t want a hospital room to be the last place she existed,” her sister whispered. “We thought she just… never went.” I mailed the phone back. Two weeks later, I received a letter. Inside was a small photo. Elena was standing in front of an airport window, sunlight on her face, smiling like someone who had already made peace with everything. On the back, her sister had written: “You were the stranger she hoped would find her words.” What Seat 23B Taught Me I still think about that flight. About how someone who knew their story was ending didn’t leave behind noise. Just honesty. No post. No announcement. No goodbye speech. Just a quiet message meant for someone who wasn’t even part of her life. And I realized something that day: Sometimes people don’t want to be remembered by the world. They just want one person to know they were here. And somehow… that person was me.
By Mustafaabout 9 hours ago in Fiction
Hell Desk
Lara glanced around, mostly to have something to do other than watching awkwardly as the assistant tried to stare their clipboard into submission. "I admit, this is not where I expected to end up."
By Natasja Roseabout 15 hours ago in Fiction
Summoned
Caves have an odd smell: mineral, fungal, traces of the feces of bats and the slow rot of silent, blind fish in dark, subterranean pools. I have heard the young men of the village mock each other by sniffing an exhalation and declaring: "Cave breath!" as though it were a mortal insult, some potent hex. I know what they mean, now. Imagine that the petrichor, the rich and pungent cologne that rain dapples soil with, became concentrated, corrupted, and was breathed into the mouth of someone who will never, fully exhale.
By D. J. Reddallabout 17 hours ago in Fiction
Immortal? To Hell!
”Where am I?” Putin asked, feeling out his face. The words came out garbled, splatting blood all over his hands. “Hell!” someone boomed.
By Lana V Lynxabout 19 hours ago in Fiction
I Really Want to do This. Content Warning.
“Will you two just shut up and stop arguing!” “Hey, don’t get mad at us, just because you have yet another dilemma. You never listen to us anyway!”
By Calvin Londonabout 21 hours ago in Fiction
Jump-start Your Writing Journey
My dear friend Nancy had dreams of being a writer after commanding a classroom forever. She figured it would finally give her a creative outlet instead of taking up knitting afghans or cultivating orchids. She hated grading papers and wanted to expand her opportunities. As we met at Panera, she shared that she wanted people to read her thoughts and allow her personal legacy to live on. “Grand idea,” I said. “I want the same.”
By Barb Dukemana day ago in Fiction