Adventure
The Power Of Physical Touch
As a parent, there's nothing more precious than the bond you share with your child. One way to nurture this bond is through physical touch. A scholar once said that parents should kiss their children at least four times and touch them five times daily. This may seem like a simple act, but it can have a profound impact on your child's emotional and psychological well-being.
By Tariq Pathan about a year ago in Chapters
After The Sunset The Stars As My Witness. Content Warning.
Whispers paced around him with hints of his name. Blinking his eyes open his eyes were met by blurry figures hovering above him. When his eyes finally cleared, standing above him were two unfamiliar faces, he sat up to study his surroundings. Surrounded by trees that stood away from them, letting the sunlight dance between the three strangers before them. Choirs of birds screamed competitively, it seemed. Perseus ran his fingers through the soft rich grass trying to figure out how he'd gotten there as the two strangers studied him. Where am I? He silently asked himself. “Mycenae, your new home” The woman responded as if she read his mind. “Not yet, ” The man snapped “At Least let us Introduce ourselves first before we…” She shot a deadly glare that instantly muted and paralysed the man. She was dressed like a warrior ready for war, black hair as dark as charcoal. She had thick eyebrows that seemed to be permanently furrowed, her lips didn't show any sign of a crescent or welcoming expression, her face was hard. Her face seemed to exude anger, annoyance, dissatisfaction and boredom. Her eyes were a deep grey, that seemed like they could cause chaos and order by just glaring. They looked like the kind of eyes you wouldn't dare explore because it would drive you crazy, those eyes weren't the gateway to her soul but elsewhere. She stood with a perfect posture that revealed the weight of her confidence and authoritative aura, she was not to be messed with. Though Perseus would dare not to admit it through words or body language, this woman intimidated him a bit. “I am Athena, daughter of Zeus. I am the goddess of wisdom and war” she introduced herself. “And I am Hermes, also the son of Zeus. I am the herald to the gods and humans. I am the god of wealth and travellers” The man introduced himself. He was dressed like a traveller with a petasos adorned with a pair of wings with golden hair that seemed to have a tint of pink or mahogany or copper peeking from underneath his petasos. He had a smooth youthful face that made him appear to be a boy approaching his manhood or beginning the journey. He had a permanent smile engraved on his face even when he tried to be serious. He had blue eyes, reflecting adventure and excitement but a mystery as well. “We have come to assist you with your quest to retrieve Medusa’s head," Athena said, her eyes pinned on Perseus. Perseus found himself nodding involuntarily it seemed until he remembered that he was supposed to be going to Argos and nowhere else. “But…” Perseus attempted to concoct an excuse that was god worthy. Before he could come up with an excuse Hermes picked up a bag from beside Athena that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. “Our gifts to you,” Athena said, digging into the bag, dismissing whatever Perseus had attempted to say. She pulled out a golden band that illuminated a golden light on the engraving of a pair of eyes at the front, a pair of wings at the side, one on the left and the other on the right with claw marks randomly engraved throughout the band. “This is a crown. You must wear this when you encounter her. This will protect you from her deadly gaze, you will not be turned to stone.” She handed the band to Perseus. As soon as the band was in Perseus’ hands the light that illuminated and the engravings from it died out. The golden band was smooth; he could neither feel nor see the engravings that disappeared with the light. “This is the sword you will use to behead her. It can cut through anything even that which you can not see” she ran her finger across the blade cutting herself, her blood sinking into the sword like water on the soil. She handed Perseus the sword after studying the sword like she had never seen it before or a valued gift she didn't want to part with. “Be Careful, like the head of Medusa, when this sword falls into the wrong hands, inconceivable damage worse than that of Pandora” She watched Perseus’ eyes glimmer with excitement as he studied the magnificent sword that felt majestic and powerful in his hand. “This bag is where you will store the head and the sword for now,”She threw the bag from Hermes to Perseus. “And to get there…” she paused to stare at Hermes who was meant to finish what she had said “We will make sure as you cruise through the oceans or anywhere you will be safe” he said quickly turning away from them so he could leave. Athena Lunged in front of him clearing her throat with her jaws clenched and her grey gaze of terror looking straight into Hermes’ eyes “Oh, how could I forget” he said with a nervous hysterical laugh. He turned away to face Perseus with the annoyance and anger of someone who couldn't shoot the messenger. “For fast cruising…” He crouched, removing his sandals as slowly as he could without making it look like he was intentionally being slow, pretending like he was struggling to remove them. Finally he had taken his sandals off after an agonizing wait “These sandals will take you anywhere you want. They are as fast as lightning bolt,” Holding the sandals close to his chest as if he was giving away his life. “Only to be worn during emergencies…Do not damage them,” He said with an ingenuine smile because Athena stood near Perseus to have a clear view of Hermes. “And I will be dropping in to see…to check on you” He gently handed them to Perseus. “How do I use them?” Perseus asked. “ Would you like me to show you how to wear them too?” Hermes Sarcastically asked, throwing his hands onto his waist. “I dont know either.You will have to figure it out,”He scoffed with a menacing shrug. “How will I find her?” Perseus looked away from Hermes seeming unphased as he faced Athena. Before Athena could say anything Hermes dashed between them, his arms crossed his face attempting to be fearful “Firstly you’ll get a companion who will help…” “No need to search for them, they will offer themselves to your disposal” Athena Continued “After that…the gorgons location will be revealed to you by” Hermes dramatically paused, smirked with the excitement he had before or an attempt of an evil smile “AN EYE AND A TOOTH”He sighed waiting for Perseus to ask questions, but Perseus dared not to waste his time asking questions. He simply nodded hoping they’d add more to the information “And Perseus, when you have beheaded her bring her head to me. In Mycenae and in return I will gift this kingdom to you. Zeus, our father, will bless you and your kingdom with power and all the riches” Our father. That made shivers erupt all over his body, Athena had finally addressed their relation after what felt to him as though she was treating him like a mere mortal that they helped because of pity. She pointed out in the distance to show him his way out, As he walked he felt himself fade away from the realm. “Do you really think he will manage” Hermes attempted to whisper his doubt “Yes, he is more than capable” Athena responded coldly And I will be victorious Perseus whispered in his heart, disappearing from the realm that would be his. Lost in her thought, Medusa recounted her dreams like a vivid memory she shouldn't remember. It was the silhouette again but like all the times she had dreamed of it she couldnt tell what the shape was meant to be. They were searching for a waterfall, the river reaching her waist. When they found the waterfall, she was amazed by the view, she turned around but the silhoette was not there anymore. As her eyes paced around, they were caught by the water that had been pigmented by blood that surrounded her. As she tried to figure out why she seemed to be the epicenter of the blood she saw a sword in her hand and a deep wide wound where her heart was supposed to be. Before she could ask questions to herself she saw Athena’s reflection on the sword, all she could think of was to run because the last they had met she had regretted. Running through the water that hugged her and slowed her down, she started to sink, the more she fought the faster she sank. She woke up before she could hit the bottom “Medusa!!!” Euryale disturbed, peeking through the whole at the top of her cave. “Another dream you’re wondering about?” Euryale asked curiously. “Yes” Medusa responded a bit deflated climbing out of her cave “It’s the same dream again” she sat beside Euryale watching Meritus boarded the survivors on to boats to assist them escape. “The dreams seem to hint death” Medusa nudged Euryale “Mama always used to say such dreams mean the end of something to allow new beginings” Euryale tried reassure her. She scuffed at the thought of her getting a new begining. “Medusa…” Stheno shadow glided above them,interrupting Euryale “We have eachother” she continued before flew off to catch up⁰ with Stheno to follow the boats to make sure the survivors would remain survivors. Medusa watched her sisters fly further and further until they were as far as the stars. She ran her fingers on the scars engraved on her back rougher than her silk look scales, Her wings used to be there. Perseus paced back and forth as he watched the ship approach their final destination docking. Anxiously waiting for his mother who seemed to be discussing with the captain or probably thanking him. Finally she approached him. “Mama,” he cleared his throat, swallowing his tongue in the process. “Here,” He simply said giving his mother the bag. She studied the contents in the bag, everything seemed normal until she saw Hermes shoes. “Where did you find these?” Her eyes confused but scared. “I got it from the gods,” he whispred “Athena and Hermes,” he continued avoiding her eyes. Silence loomed between them. “Then I’ll go to Argos by myself. If the gods want you to do this who am I to stand in your way?” He had been hoping and praying she’d change her mind but didnt think it would be uncomfortable and make him feel guilty. “Perseus,” She said with a loving tone once more “Dont use this ship when you find out where Medusa is. To avoid hurting…innocent people,” He nodded slowly to avoid seeming he was excited. “And…” she ran her hand on the scar that peek out on his collar bone that seemed to travel deeper into his clothing “Promise me you will return to me, and if the the task seems impossible. Return to me…don't risk your life. Promise you will return”
By Ropafadzo Thokozani Zinyuke (Fadzo) about a year ago in Chapters
The Whispering Woods
The Whispering Woods I’m Jamie, nineteen, and I’ve never been one for spooky stories. Growing up in a sleepy little town tucked against the edge of the Blackwood Forest, I figured most of the tales—ghosts in the trees, voices in the wind—were just old folks trying to keep us kids from wandering too far. But that changed last summer, when the forest started whispering my name. It began on a muggy afternoon in late July. I was working at my uncle’s hardware store, stacking nails and dodging his grumbling about the heat, when I heard it—a faint sound, like someone calling “Jamie” from outside. I figured it was one of my buddies messing around, so I stepped onto the porch, wiping sweat from my brow. The street was empty, the air thick with cicadas. Weird, but I shrugged it off. Probably the wind. That night, though, it happened again. I was sprawled on my bed, window open to catch any breeze, when the voice came clearer—soft, insistent, like it was right outside. “Jamie…” My skin prickled. I peeked out, saw nothing but the dark outline of the Blackwood Forest looming beyond the fields. My heart thudded, but I told myself it was imagination. I’d heard too many campfire stories about the woods—how people went in and didn’t come out, how the trees seemed to move when you weren’t looking. Nonsense. The next day, I couldn’t shake it. At the store, I kept glancing toward the forest, half-expecting to see something. My cousin Tara, who’s always been the brave one, noticed. “You look spooked,” she said, leaning on the counter. “What’s up?” I told her about the voice. She smirked, but her eyes flickered with curiosity. “Let’s check it out,” she said. “Bet it’s just some prankster with a speaker.” I didn’t want to, but Tara’s the kind of person you can’t say no to. So, after closing, we grabbed flashlights and headed to the forest’s edge. The air changed as we stepped under the trees—cooler, heavier, smelling of moss and something faintly sour. The whispers started almost immediately, low and overlapping, like a crowd murmuring. “Jamie… Tara…” My flashlight shook in my hand. Tara’s grin faded. “Okay,” she muttered. “That’s not normal.” We pushed deeper, branches snagging our clothes. The whispers grew louder, more urgent, and I swear the trees leaned closer, their gnarled limbs twisting like they were alive. My chest tightened—I wanted to run, but Tara grabbed my arm. “Look,” she whispered, pointing. Ahead was a clearing, and in it stood a figure—tall, cloaked in shadow, its face hidden. My breath caught. The whispers stopped, replaced by a silence so thick it hurt my ears. The figure raised a hand, and a light pulsed from it, soft and green, forming words in the air: “You are needed.” “What the hell?” Tara’s voice trembled. I couldn’t move, my legs like lead. The figure stepped forward, and I saw its eyes—glowing, ancient, like they’d seen centuries. “The forest is dying,” it said, voice echoing inside my skull. “You can save it.” “Me?” I croaked. “I’m nobody. I sell nails.” “You hear us,” it said. “That makes you chosen.” Tara squeezed my arm, her usual bravado gone. “Jamie, let’s get out of here.” But I couldn’t. Something in those eyes pulled at me—fear, yes, but also a weird, aching need. The figure explained: the Blackwood was alive, a guardian of some ancient power, but it was rotting from a curse laid by people long ago. The whispers were its plea, and I’d been hearing them because… I don’t know, because I’d always felt the forest watching me, even as a kid. It gave us a task—find the Heartstone, buried deep in the woods, and break the curse. If we didn’t, the forest would spread its decay, swallowing the town. My stomach churned. I’m not a hero. I’m the guy who trips over his own feet and forgets to call his mom. But Tara nodded, fierce again. “We can do this,” she said. “Together.” We spent hours searching, the forest growing darker, the air thicker. The whispers guided us, sometimes soft, sometimes frantic, leading us through thorns and sinkholes. My flashlight died, and we relied on Tara’s, its beam weak against the shadows. I kept imagining things—faces in the bark, hands reaching from the ground. My hands were raw from pushing branches, my lungs burning, but I kept going because Tara believed, and I didn’t want to let her down. Finally, we found it—a cave, its entrance hidden by roots that writhed like snakes. Inside, the air was cold, and the whispers turned to a hum, vibrating in my bones. At the cave’s heart lay the Heartstone, a jagged crystal pulsing with sickly green light. It felt wrong, heavy with pain. The figure appeared again, its presence pressing on me. “Break it,” it said. “With your will.” I didn’t know what that meant. I picked up the stone, its edges cutting my palms, and closed my eyes. I thought of the forest—how I’d played in it as a kid, how it felt like home even when I was scared. I thought of the town, my mom, Tara. I wanted it to live. I gripped the stone harder, willing it to stop, to heal. The light flared, blinding me, and a scream tore through the cave—not human, but alive. When I opened my eyes, the stone was dark, cracked, and the air felt… lighter. The figure nodded, fading. “You have saved us,” it said, and then it was gone. The forest rustled, a sigh of relief, and the whispers stopped. Tara hugged me, her hands shaking. “You did it, Jamie.” We stumbled out at dawn, scratched and exhausted, the forest looking greener, less menacing. Back home, people noticed—birds returned, the air smelled sweeter. My mom hugged me tight, confused but proud. Tara and I didn’t tell anyone the full story. Who’d believe it? But at night, when I sit on my porch, I hear a faint echo—not a whisper, but a thank you. The Blackwood feels different now, like it knows me. I’m still just Jamie, the hardware store guy, but I carry something bigger—a piece of that night, a piece of the forest’s heart. And sometimes, I wonder if it’ll call me again.
By Nirupam Kushwaha about a year ago in Chapters
The Great Doctor: Chapter 3: Revenge
Ye Qiu came out of Bai Bing's office, feeling aggrieved and wanting to cry. Guo Shaocong not only snatched Zhang Lili away, but also framed him together with Zhang Lili. The most important thing was that Bai Bing actually believed them and asked him to be a nurse.
By Huaxun Literatureabout a year ago in Chapters
"Voices of Today"
The sun rose over a quiet village in southern India just as Nila, a 17-year-old high school student, opened the news app on her tablet. She scanned through headlines—some heavy, some hopeful—pausing at a story about a 14-year-old girl in Brazil who had created a low-cost water filtration system using recycled materials. Nila smiled. “If she can do something like that, so can I,” she thought. Halfway across the world, in a buzzing café in Berlin, Tobias, a tech entrepreneur in his early thirties, read the same story. It reminded him of the global hackathon his company was sponsoring for youth innovation. Inspired, he bookmarked it and forwarded it to his team. In less than a few hours, the ripple of a single story had crossed time zones and sparked new ideas in strangers connected only by curiosity and a screen. This is the quiet power of fresh news—timely, relevant stories that do more than inform. They unite people. They inspire action. They remind us that while our daily lives may differ, our hopes and challenges often look remarkably alike. In today’s world, news is no longer something we wait for. It arrives constantly—on our phones, in our inboxes, across our social feeds. The speed can be overwhelming, but there’s something deeply human and hopeful beneath the noise: the desire to know what’s happening, to feel connected, and to shape what comes next. At a small community radio station in Nairobi, journalist Amina Mwangi begins her day with purpose. Her voice, calm and clear, reaches thousands across rural Kenya. Today, she’s reporting on a new farming initiative where local women are leading efforts to grow climate-resilient crops. “It’s not just about agriculture,” she explains. “It’s about dignity, sustainability, and women leading the way.” Her segment is picked up by a podcast in Canada focused on grassroots innovations. Within days, an NGO in Vancouver reaches out to Amina, offering to support the women’s program with additional resources and training. Fresh news becomes more than just an update—it becomes a lifeline. Across the globe, stories like these are shared every day. News of breakthroughs in medical research, communities rebuilding after disasters, or students campaigning for mental health awareness often get overshadowed by headlines of conflict and crisis. Yet they persist—small lights that brighten the broader narrative of our world. One such light appeared in March 2025, when a group of teenagers in Seoul developed an AI-powered app that helps elderly citizens navigate digital services more easily. Their project was covered by a tech news outlet, then shared widely on social media. A few weeks later, an elderly user in Spain posted a heartfelt video thanking the students for helping her feel independent again. “It made us feel like our work mattered,” said Ji-Won, the team leader. “We weren’t just solving a problem—we were helping people feel seen.” This human-centered lens is what makes fresh news so impactful. Behind every headline is a person or a group working, dreaming, struggling, and striving. While major media outlets often focus on the dramatic or divisive, there is a growing movement to highlight stories that empower, educate, and uplift. Platforms like Solutions Journalism, The Good News Network, and independent local media are embracing this approach—presenting the truth with clarity while also offering context, compassion, and, most importantly, hope. Of course, not all news is easy to hear. Natural disasters, political unrest, and economic hardship remain realities. But even within difficult stories, there are often threads of resilience: neighbors opening their homes after a flood, strangers raising funds for a family in crisis, or scientists working around the clock to find cures. News, at its best, doesn’t just reflect the world—it helps shape it. It gives voice to the voiceless, holds the powerful accountable, and shows us what’s possible when people care enough to act. Back in her village, Nila clicks on another article—this one about a youth-led climate conference in Nairobi. She sees photos of students her age from all over the world, sharing ideas and solutions. Inspired, she begins drafting a proposal for her school’s environmental club. She may not know it yet, but her idea will be picked up by a regional news outlet in a few months. And just like that, another ripple will begin—connecting, informing, inspiring. Because fresh news isn’t just about what’s happening today. It’s about who we can become tomorrow.
By Muhammad Saad about a year ago in Chapters
“The Room with No Name”
She walked into the room like a question begging to be answered. Barefoot, half-robed, skin tasting of lavender and doubt. Her name was Elizabeth — soft lips, storm eyes, and a tension in her step that betrayed everything she tried to hide.
By Randolphe Tanoguemabout a year ago in Chapters
