The Graying World
The rain tasted like ash. It slicked the corrugated iron roofs of Salvation Creek, a film of silver reflecting a sky perpetually bruised. The air hung thick and heavy, the scent not of rain or earth, but something else –…
Fantasy
Mythical, Epic Tales from Magical worlds
Read MoreThe Graying World
Echoes of Aethelburg
The salt spray tasted like regret on Alure’s lips. Years adrift hadn’t strengthened bone, only honed edges. They traced the glyphs carved into the driftwood, fingers thin as spider silk. The wood warmed under their touch, not from sun, but…
The Echo of Aethel
Dust motes danced in the single shaft of light slicing the gloom of the archive. Old Man Tiber, hunched like a question mark over a brittle scroll, traced a finger across faded ink. The parchment felt like dried skin under…
The Drowned Oaths
The chipped rune pulsed beneath Elara’s palm, a throb against the cold stone of the watchtower. Dust motes danced in the lone shaft of sunlight slicing through the gloom. It hadn’t sparked in centuries, not since the last Runeweaver… vanished.…
Stone and Echoes
The dust tasted like old pennies. Old pennies and regret. Kaelen traced a fingertip across the basalt face of a crumbling sentinel. It wasn’t stone, not exactly. More like…compressed night. The air hummed, a low thrum against his teeth. He’d…
Echoes of the Lost Dynasties
Elka traced the brittle edge of the parchment. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of light slicing the gloom of the archive. Each fragment felt less like paper, more like sun-warmed bone. She wasn’t *searching* for anything specific, not…
The Skyfall Echoes
The peaks clawed at a bruised sky, broken teeth against the fading light. Dust devils danced across the shale, ghosts of arguments long settled. Old Man Tiber, they called me, though I hadn’t earned the name through age. It was…
The Echoing Fall
The dust motes danced in the single shaft of light piercing the ruined temple. It smelled of wet stone and something else…something like burnt honey and regret. Old Man Tiber, they called him, though he wasn’t *that* old—more weathered, like…
Runecarves
The wind tasted of grit and regret. Lysara cursed, picking bits of shale from her braid. Below, the valley sprawled, stitched with silver rivers. Not the view she’d anticipated. Not at all. She’d pictured a graceful landing, a triumphant return.…
The Great Gnomish Conspiracy of the Nations League
In the verdant hollows of Elderglow Forest, where mushrooms tower like ancient monoliths and dewdrops glisten like enchanted orbs, the tiny gnomes of Glimmerwick led lives of quiet industry. These pint-sized folk, no taller than a squirrel’s whisker, were renowned…
The Great Gnome Nations League Saga
In the heart of the Enchanted Forest, nestled beneath the gnarled roots of an ancient oak, lay the bustling gnome village of Thimblewick. This wasn’t your ordinary settlement of pint-sized folk; it was a hub of fervor, excitement, and unbridled…
Static in the Air
Act 1: The Discovery & Isolation The rain in Seattle was a constant, grey companion. Elias Thorne found a certain comfort in it, a mirroring of the relentless data streams that consumed his life. He’d spent the last five years…
Shimmering Reflection
The rain hammered against the windows of Silas’s antique shop, a steady, insistent drumming. Silas, a man who smelled of beeswax and old paper, dusted a particularly ornate mirror when he noticed it. The reflection wasn’t quite right. Behind the…
Pixel and the Crumble
Pixel was a creature of habit. Every morning, precisely at 7:17 AM, he’d sit on the worn rug in front of Beatrice’s apartment door, a tiny, judgmental sentinel. He’d survey the street, his dark eyes narrowed, awaiting the arrival of…
The Champions League of Ant Catching
A Tale of Strategy, Teamwork, and Tiny Triumphs In the bustling city of Anthillia, where skyscrapers tower over bustling streets, a peculiar phenomenon had taken hold of the local youth: the Champions League of Ant Catching. It wasn’t just a…