Short Story
Sky Magic
When the world was first born, every atom of every stone and tree crackled with magic — contained energy that could be accessed by anyone at any time. In fact, magic was so commonplace, no one thought anything of it when the seemingly impossible would occur. The earth was like a new battery, fully charged and capable of making just about anything happen. All it needed was a small push in the right direction.
By Shannon Hilson2 months ago in Fiction
Symbiotic: Chapter 51
Chapter 51 Sara’s Basic Alchemist Workshop was less a room and more an avalanche of controlled chaos. The walls were lined with shelves sagging under the weight of jars and vials. Herbs dried to brittle stalks, powders glittering faintly with mineral light, shards of Crystals of every hue and affinity glowing like captured stars. Each container bore a label, some neat System labels and others little more than a scribble that only she could decipher.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)2 months ago in Fiction
THE LAST SANCTUARY OF NEON SKY
No one alive remembered the real color of the sky. Official history, as recorded by the Ministry of Perspective, stated that Earth’s atmosphere had always shimmered in neon hues—pulsing blues, electric greens, and streaks of violent pink that twisted like serpents across the heavens. Anyone who questioned it was, by definition, “Factually Distorted,” and removed for “Cognitive Rehabilitation.”
By Alisher Jumayev2 months ago in Fiction
THE LAST LIGHT IN WILLOW CREEK
When I returned to Willow Creek after twelve years away, the town looked almost exactly as I’d left it—small, neat, peaceful—like someone had pressed “pause” on time. The wooden houses stood in rows like storybook cottages, the old bakery still filled the street with the smell of cinnamon buns, and the creek ran lazily beside the main road, singing its familiar whispering song.
By Alisher Jumayev2 months ago in Fiction
THE QUIET WOMAN ACROSS THE HALL
I first noticed her on a wet Tuesday morning, the kind of morning when the city felt permanently exhausted. She stood in the narrow hallway of our apartment building, staring at the wall as if deciphering invisible handwriting. A pale woman, tall and thin, with dark circles under her eyes that suggested she hadn’t slept in days.
By Alisher Jumayev2 months ago in Fiction
Symbiotic: Chapter 50
Chapter 50 The climb out of the volcano was long and, before her System improved stats, would have been grueling. Sara’s boots scraped against jagged stone, her breath coming in steady rhythm as she ascended the winding tunnels. The heat pressed against her back like a living thing, the glow of magma fading as she rose higher toward the crater rim. Each step carried her farther from the pulsing heartbeat of the Volcano’s Control Crystal, and from Fluffy’s always full hearted laughter echoing faintly through the bond.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)2 months ago in Fiction
The Dancing Snowflakes
On the coldest night of winter, when the moon hung low and silver in the sky, the town below was quiet. Snow blanketed the streets, muffling every sound, and icicles hung from rooftops like delicate crystal daggers. The children of the town had long since gone to bed, their windows glowing softly in the dark. But above them, something extraordinary was happening.
By Logan M. Snyder2 months ago in Fiction
