Series
Symbiotic: Chapter 42
Chapter 42 Sara sat back on her heels, the Greatworm egg glowing faintly in its cocoon of spores. Her chest rose and fell with exhaustion, but there was a steadiness in her eyes now. She looked across the lake to Whistle, who had watched her struggle and endure without a word, his hawk perched calmly on his arm.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a month ago in Fiction
TUS NUA - ch 43
TUS NUA – ch 43 New Beginnings – Mia and Midnight (*)(*)(*) After Mr. O’Casey, the Headmaster of the university recited the instructions and ingredients, Mia carefully, under his watchful eyes, using a twig of an older hawthorne tree, carefully mixed the dried and mashed powder consisting of equal parts of rosemary, sage, mint, thyme, and lavender.
By Margaret Brennanabout a month ago in Fiction
Symbiotic: Chapter 40
Chapter 40 Sara moved in silence, the battlefield quiet now except for occasional comments carried on the wind from those that had watched the once sided battle from the Wall. She knelt by each fallen mercenary, hands steady as she searched their bodies. Coins, weapons, scraps of parchment, and relics were gathered with care, each item tucked away without ceremony. She did not rush. She did not speak.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a month ago in Fiction
Symbiotic: Chapter 39
Chapter 39 Unwilling to accidentally be unavailable when the first new citizens reached Haven Valley, Sara avoids diving into the Dungeon or heading out to search deeper into the valley. Instead, the next two days in Haven Valley were filled with the steady rhythm of creation. Sara worked tirelessly, her hands glowing faintly as she called upon Create Basic Object, shaping spores into hardened forms.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a month ago in Fiction
The Notes She Never Meant Me to See
I didn’t sleep well after finding the notebook. Not because it scared me, but because every time I closed my eyes, I saw my mother’s handwriting. I kept hearing her voice saying things I wish she’d said out loud while she was alive.
By Maziku Shabaniabout a month ago in Fiction
The Door I Didn’t Mean to Open
I had only been back in my mother’s house for two days when the quiet started getting under my skin. Old houses always have sounds: settling beams, groaning pipes, the occasional thud you try to rationalize as “probably nothing.” I grew up with those sounds. I should’ve felt comforted by them. But grief changes the meaning of familiar things. Suddenly, everything feels like it’s trying to tell you something you’re not ready to hear.
By Maziku Shabaniabout a month ago in Fiction
