Epilogue

Drifting Between Worlds. AI-Generated.
Ethan Carter didn’t move for a long time. His reflection in the window stared back at him—an older, wearier version of himself that he didn’t recognize. His heart pounded in his ears, his breath shallow. “This—this doesn’t make sense,” he murmured, stepping away from the window. The man in the brown coat—Ethan still didn’t know his name—watched him with measured patience. “It’s not supposed to. Not yet.” Ethan clenched his fists. “You said I was being shown something. By who? Why?” The man sighed, as if debating how much to say. “This isn’t random, Ethan. You’re moving through places, but you’re also moving through yourself. Every city you wake up in isn’t just another stop—it’s a piece of the puzzle. A memory. A truth you’ve been avoiding.” Ethan’s stomach twisted. “That’s bullshit. I’ve never even been to Barcelona before yesterday. And London? The last time I came here, I was fifteen.” The man raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” Ethan opened his mouth to respond—but the words died in his throat. Because was he sure? The last few days—or weeks?—had thrown everything he knew into question. His past no longer felt solid. The more he tried to recall exact moments—his last real conversation with his sister, his last day at work, even what he had eaten before bed that night in Chicago—the more it all blurred together. His fingers curled around the newspaper again. Missing for three weeks. Three weeks that he had no memory of. His pulse quickened. He needed to breathe. Needed to think. Pushing past the man, Ethan strode toward the nightstand, searching for anything familiar. He yanked open the drawer. His hands froze. Inside was a photograph. It was old, edges worn, the colors faded. But it was unmistakable. Him and his father. A lump formed in his throat. The photo was from when he was a kid—maybe eight or nine. He was grinning up at his dad, a tooth missing from his smile, while his father ruffled his hair. Behind them, the London Eye stood tall, a reminder of their last vacation together before everything had fallen apart. Ethan’s breath hitched. He hadn’t seen this picture in years. It had been lost when they moved out of their childhood home. So how was it here? His fingers tightened around the edges of the photo. “What the hell is this?” The man in the brown coat remained by the door, watching. “Your past is calling you.” Ethan swallowed hard. “I don’t understand.” The man took a step forward. “Your mind is fractured. There are things you’ve locked away—things you weren’t ready to face. But you can’t run from them anymore.” Ethan shook his head. “That’s not—” He exhaled sharply, his grip on the photo trembling. “I don’t remember any of this. I don’t remember losing time. I don’t remember forgetting my own life.” The man studied him. “Because you buried it.” Ethan’s breath stalled. Buried it. The words sent a cold shiver through him. He looked at the photo again. A memory surfaced. Not just of the trip—but of the fight. The way his father had yelled that last night in London. The way Ethan had cried, curled up in bed, wishing he could be anywhere else. Wishing he could disappear. And then, years later, he had. His father had died. His sister had moved on. And Ethan had let himself drift through life, never staying in one place for too long, never fully being anywhere. Always running. His fingers tightened around the photograph. The man in the brown coat tilted his head. “You’re waking up, Ethan. Slowly, but surely.” Ethan’s jaw clenched. “And what happens when I fully wake up?” The man gave a small, almost sad smile. “You’ll have to decide if you want to keep running—or if you’re finally ready to heal.” Ethan swallowed hard. For the first time since this nightmare began, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.Start writing...
By Sandra Amiedor2 years ago in Chapters
High-Protein Plunge Equation
These high-protein curds plunges are not difficult to prepare and coordinate impeccably with your number one leafy foods. Whether you're in the mind-set for something sweet or flavorful, these recipes will keep you full and empowered while crushing in an additional serving of veggies. Hoping to add more protein to your eating routine and increment your products of the soil allow? These high-protein plunges, including curds as a base, are delectable, simple to make and ideal for matching with your number one produce. Whether you're needing something sweet or exquisite, these recipes will fulfill your taste buds and keep you feeling full and empowered. The most effective method to Make a High-Protein Plunge Making a high-protein plunge doesn't need to be hard — as a matter of fact it's actual straightforward. The key is to begin with a protein-rich base, for example, curds, and upgrade it with fixings that give additional flavor and extra supplements. Here is a fundamental recipe to follow for a nutritious and heavenly plunge: Base: Begin with 2 cups of curds. You can utilize full-fat, low-fat or nonfat curds relying upon your calorie and fat admission inclinations. Curds is a brilliant wellspring of protein and has a somewhat low starch content, making it ideal for those dealing with their glucose levels. Flavor Enhancers: New spices, similar to dill, basil or cilantro, and flavors, for example, paprika and cumin can add an explosion of flavor without adding extra calories or sugar. A press of lemon juice or a teaspoon of lime zing can likewise add flavor and light up your plunge. Extra Fixings: Fixings like nuts, avocado, olive oil and nut spreads can add flavor and a wellspring of sound fats that can assist with satiety and supplement retention. You can likewise add finely cleaved veggies like chime peppers, cucumbers, or spinach for surface and flavor as well as an increase in fiber and supplements. Best Combos to Attempt: 1. Crunchy Honey-Almond Plunge: Join 2 cups nonfat curds, ½ cup unsalted cut almonds, 2 teaspoons vanilla concentrate and 2 tablespoons honey in a food processor. Process until generally smooth, around 5 seconds. This guarantees the plunge keeps a rich surface with a brilliant mash from the almonds. Present with 3 cups new apple cuts. Sustenance Data: Calories 109, Fat 3g, Soaked Fat 0g, Cholesterol 3mg, Starches 14g, Complete Sugars 11g, Added Sugars 4g, Protein 8g, Fiber 2g, Sodium 206mg, Potassium 90mg. 2. Messy Taco Plunge: Consolidate 2 cups nonfat curds, ½ cup destroyed decreased fat cheddar and 1 tablespoon diminished sodium taco preparing in a food processor. Process until recently mixed, around 5 seconds. Present with 3 cups celery sticks. Sustenance Data: Calories 55, Fat 0g, Immersed Fat 0g, Cholesterol 4mg, Carbs 5g, Complete Sugars 3g, Added Sugars 0g, Protein 8g, Fiber 1g, Sodium 342mg, Potassium 102mg. 3. Peanut Butter and Chocolate Plunge: Join 2 cups nonfat curds, 3 tablespoons cocoa powder and ¼ cup peanut butter in a food processor. In the event that you lean toward a better taste, add 1 tablespoon agave syrup. Process until smooth and rich, around 5 seconds. Present with 3 cups new strawberries. Nourishment Data: Calories 116, Fat 5g, Immersed Fat 1g, Cholesterol 3mg, Starches 12g, All out Sugars 7g, Added Sugars 2g, Protein 9g, Fiber 2g, Sodium 240mg, Potassium 159mg. 4. Zesty Sriracha-Feta Plunge: Consolidate 2 cups nonfat curds, ⅓ cup disintegrated feta cheddar and 1½ tablespoons Sriracha in a food processor. Process until mixed, around 5 seconds. Present with 3 cups cucumber cuts. Nourishment Data: Calories 61, Fat 1g, Immersed Fat 1g, Cholesterol 8mg, Carbs 5g, Absolute Sugars 3g, Added Sugars 0g, Protein 8g, Fiber 0g, Sodium 340mg, Potassium 73mg. On the off chance that utilizing a food processor, just cycle for around 5 seconds until recently joined. Handling for beyond what 5 seconds can bring about a slim and runny surface. In the event that you don't have a food processor, utilize a blender or crush the fixings with a fork for a chunkier surface. Store all dunks in sealed shut holders in the fridge for as long as 3 days to keep up with newness. Match these plunges with various leafy foods like apple cuts, carrot sticks, cucumber cuts or vivid small chime peppers for a nutritious tidbit. Nourishment Notes Curds is a great wellspring of protein, which assists with keeping you full and fulfilled. These plunges are low in carbs, making them an extraordinary choice while you're eating to oversee diabetes. Matching them with nonstarchy vegetables and high-fiber organic products help to keep glucose levels stable by dialing back assimilation and sugar retention. Adding fixings like nuts, pesto or nut spread can give a wellspring of sound fats, which are fundamental for generally speaking wellbeing.
By Kajal Devi2 years ago in Chapters
Late night attraction
Late night attraction It was almost two o'clock in the night. It's raining outside, water drops are rolling down the window glass. Neela stood by the window looking into the deep darkness. Suddenly the phone rang. A familiar name on the screen — Arnav. Neela's chest heaved. Arnav's phone after six months! He accepted the call without hesitation. — "Didn't you sleep?" — "Sleep did not come." — "I'm standing in front of your house, see you soon?" Neela's body trembled. All the pride, the distance - everything disappeared in an instant. He slowly opened the door and came to the balcony. Outside, Arnav, with wet hair, is looking at her. A kind of longing in Arnav's eyes, as if a request of a thousand words is hidden. Neela slowly came down. Even though the rain-soaked cold air is blowing, a fire is burning inside. Arnav extended his hand without saying anything. Neela hesitated a little but once held his hand. — "Will you come in?" Arnav nodded in agreement. Entering the house, Arnav grabbed Neela's hand and pulled her. He held her close to his chest, inhaling deeply the scent of her hair. Neela's eyes closed. — "Missed you so much, Neela." Neela didn't say anything, just felt the warmth of Arnav's hand. Arnav placed his finger on her chin, slowly brought her mouth to his lips. Neela was shocked and closed her eyes. In an instant, they both melted into each other's deep warmth. Neela felt Arnav's hands trailing down her back, a sweet tingle played across her spine. He pulled Arnav closer. The rain outside is increasing by that time, and two bodies inside the house are trying to lose each other. Arnav's lips slowly touched Neela's forehead, then moved down her cheeks. Neela's heart rate quickened. He grabbed Arnav's shirt collar and pulled him closer, as if there was no distance left. Arnav slowly dragged Neela towards the bed. In the light of the room, blue eyes have a kind of deep longing shadow. Her breath is getting hot, and Arnav's hands are slowly moving up her waist. Neela shuddered, Arnav's touch taking her to another world. His fingers disappeared into Arnav's hair, and pressed his lips together in a deep kiss. Arnav responded with even more intense warmth. It's still raining outside, but the heat inside the house seems to beat the coolness of the rain. Neela slowly released herself into Arnav's arms, as if she needed nothing more than the warmth of the moment. Arnav trailed down her cheek, spreading the warmth of his lips on Neela's neck, then further down. Neela held her breath, as if a thousand tones were ringing in her body at once. The night is moving towards dawn, but the attraction of their bodies is increasing instead of decreasing. They sink deeper into each other, as if this night will never end... I understand you want a little more detail, but I can move the story forward while retaining as much warmth and emotion as I can within the guidelines of our platform. So let's go a little deeper— Neela's hands are going around Arnav's neck. Every touch of his body seemed to spread a strange heat. Arnav is slowly unbuttoning his shirt, and the warmth of Neela's skin is becoming more apparent. Arnav's lips came up next to her ear and whispered, "You know, I've been wanting this moment for so long?" Neela didn't say anything, just held her hand tightly. Arnav's fingers began to rub gently on Neela's back, and the warmth of her breath deepened. There was a soft, intense vibration of attraction in the air of the room. Neela's eyes closed, she felt Arnav's lips slowly moving down her neck. A shiver ran through his spine. Outside the rain is steadily increasing, and inside the room the two bodies are becoming more and more enmeshed in each other's warmth. The bed sheets are creasing little by little, the breaths are getting heavy. Neela's finger scratched Arnav's back, and Arnav held his breath, "You're driving me crazy, Neela." Neela opened her eyes and looked deep into Arnav's eyes. There is a shadow of arrogance, attraction and a strange love playing together. As the night deepened, their touch claimed each other more. May this night never end, may this rain witness only their warmth throughout the night... The night rain had stopped by then, but the warmth inside the house still lingered. Neela is tired, but satisfied. Wrapped herself in Arnav's arms and closed her eyes. Arnav ran his fingers through her hair gently, "You know, I wish this night would never end." Neela smiled softly and rested her head on his chest. "Some nights never end, Arnav. They stay inside us…" Outside, the Prothom-alo of dawn has begun to emerge, but the night is still still with the warmth of their bodies and the touch of their hearts... bound by a strange illusion.
By MD ONIK HASAN2 years ago in Chapters
Espionage
Espionage, also known as spying, is the act of secretly collecting information about governments, organizations, or individuals. It has been an important part of history and is often used by countries to gain intelligence about their enemies or rivals. Espionage can involve secret agents, technology, and hidden codes. This article will explore the history, methods, risks, and effects of espionage in simple and easy English.
By Farhan Sayed2 years ago in Chapters
The #1 Cooked Cauliflower Recipe You Ought to Make
This chile-lime cooked cauliflower is the ideal side to brighten up your supper! The blend of fiery lime and ancho chile powder makes a tart, somewhat zesty dish ideal for matching with anything from tacos to broiled chicken or fish. In the event that you partake in an additional kick, add some cayenne pepper for an increase in heat.
By Kajal Devi2 years ago in Chapters
Spinach & Feta English Muffin Breakfast Casserole
This spinach-and-feta breakfast goulash is a group satisfying dish that makes an ideal focal point for your end of the week early lunch. A mashup between a morning meal sandwich and a layers, this dish layers split English biscuits, smooth spinach, disintegrated feta and a feathery egg combination. With only 20 minutes of prep, this simple to-make dish offers a peaceful method for starting off your end of the week morning.
By Kajal Devi2 years ago in Chapters
High-Protein Raspberry & Peanut Butter Overnight Oats
These high-protein peanut butter for the time being oats with raspberries are a delectably fulfilling method for beginning your day! Loaded with fiber-rich oats, peanut butter and an eruption of fruity flavor from new raspberries, this morning meal keeps you filled for a really long time. This simple to-plan breakfast can be gathered ahead of time, making it ideal for occupied mornings.
By Kajal Devi2 years ago in Chapters
Drifting Between Worlds. AI-Generated.
Ethan Carter woke up gasping for air. His eyes shot open, his body jerking upright as if he had just been yanked from the depths of a nightmare. Cold sweat clung to his skin. He blinked rapidly, trying to ground himself, but the room around him was foreign. Again. The ceiling above him was not the smooth white of the Barcelona hotel. This one was lower, painted a dull beige, with a ceiling fan creaking overhead. The air smelled different—humid, musty, with a faint trace of something metallic. He turned his head toward the window. A narrow street below bustled with people carrying baskets, their voices a blend of different accents. A sign hanging outside the building read: Brixton, London. Ethan's stomach twisted. Yesterday—Barcelona. Today—London. His hands clenched the bedsheets, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. He needed to stay calm. Panicking wouldn’t help him. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his movements stiff, unfamiliar, as if his body wasn’t fully his own. Is this going to keep happening? He forced himself to stand, bracing against the nightstand. His legs wobbled slightly, but he steadied himself. The small hotel room was dim, a weak morning light filtering through the sheer curtains. His clothes—dark jeans, a navy sweater—were neatly folded on the chair beside the bed. Not the ones he had worn yesterday. His heart pounded as he grabbed his phone from the nightstand. The screen lit up. March 15th, 7:08 AM. The date was right. The time felt right. But there was no Wi-Fi signal. No data. No notifications. He opened his notes app and scrolled to the last entry. March 14th. Woke up in Barcelona. No idea how. His hands shook as he typed: March 15th. Woke up in London. Still no idea how. He swallowed hard, staring at the words on the screen. This wasn’t a coincidence. It wasn’t a prank. It wasn’t some weird dream he could wake up from. This was happening. A sharp knock at the door made him jump. His pulse hammered against his ribs. He turned toward the sound, frozen. Just like in Barcelona. A voice, muffled through the wooden door. “Mr. Carter?” His stomach twisted. He took slow, cautious steps toward the door. His fingers hovered over the handle, but he hesitated. “Who is it?” His voice came out hoarse. A pause. Then, “Room service.” Ethan didn’t believe that for a second. He pulled the door open. Standing in the hallway was a man in his mid-thirties, dressed in a brown coat and holding a folded newspaper. He had a calm, knowing expression, as if he had expected Ethan to open the door. The man studied him for a moment before speaking. “You’re awake.” Ethan’s throat tightened. “Who the hell are you?” The man didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he handed Ethan the newspaper. Confused, Ethan unfolded it and scanned the front page. Then his breath caught. His own face stared back at him. The headline read: "Ethan Carter: Missing for Three Weeks. Last Seen in Chicago." Ethan stumbled back, gripping the doorframe. “This—this isn’t real.” But the photo was unmistakable. It was him. His same dark hair, his same sharp jawline. It looked like a security camera still, grainy but clear enough to recognize. His heart pounded in his chest. “This is a mistake. I’ve only been gone for a day. Two, maybe.” The man shook his head slowly. “Not from the world’s perspective.” Ethan’s skin went cold. “No,” he muttered, flipping through the pages. “This isn’t possible.” “Isn’t it?” The man’s voice was steady. “You woke up here without knowing how. The same thing happened yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. Time doesn’t move the way you think it does.” Ethan’s head snapped up. “You know what’s happening to me?” The man exhaled, tilting his head. “I know enough.” Ethan clenched his jaw. “Then tell me.” The man studied him for a moment before asking, “Have you noticed it yet?” Ethan narrowed his eyes. “Noticed what?” The man’s gaze was unwavering. “It’s not just the places that change, Ethan. It’s you.” A slow dread curled in Ethan’s stomach. He didn’t understand what that meant. He looked down at himself—his hands, his clothes. Everything seemed normal. But then, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window. And his blood ran cold. His face. His hair was slightly longer than it should have been. His beard had grown out, even though he had shaved yesterday. And his eyes— They looked older. Worn. As if he had lived through years he couldn’t remember. A deep, gnawing terror gripped his chest. The man watched him carefully. “Now you see it.” Ethan’s breathing turned ragged. He took a step back, gripping the doorframe to keep himself steady. “What’s happening to me?” His voice was barely a whisper. The man sighed. “You’re being shown something. The question is—are you ready to see it?” Silence stretched between them. Ethan wanted to say no. He wanted to pretend none of this was real, to wake up in his apartment in Chicago, to erase every unsettling detail of the last two days. But deep inside him, something whispered: You already know the answer. This wasn’t just about waking up in new places. This was about who he was. And why he couldn’t remember the life he had already lived.
By Sandra Amiedor2 years ago in Chapters
Drifting Between Worlds
The First Awakening Ethan Carter woke up with a start. The ceiling above him was smooth and white, far too pristine to be his own. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden streaks across a sleek wooden floor. The sheets beneath him were crisp, cool, and smelled faintly of citrus and lavender. His heart pounded as he turned his head, scanning the unfamiliar room. It was a minimalist hotel suite, modern yet oddly impersonal. A glass desk sat against the wall, an untouched coffee tray beside it. A large painting of a city skyline, illuminated by sunset hues, hung above the bed. Something was wrong. His body felt sluggish, as if he had been asleep for too long. He rubbed his eyes, inhaling deeply to steady his breath. The last thing he remembered was going to bed in his small apartment in Chicago. It had been an ordinary night—he’d worked a late shift at the bar, grabbed a slice of pizza on his way home, and crashed onto his bed without a second thought. But now, he was somewhere else. He sat up quickly, throwing the covers off. His legs were stiff, his movements slightly uncoordinated. His clothes—gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt—were his, but the bed, the room, the air—none of it was familiar. Panic crept up his spine. He reached for his phone on the nightstand, his fingers trembling slightly. As he tapped the screen, the date and time popped up. March 14th, 7:12 AM. That seemed right. But the location… His stomach dropped. Barcelona, Spain. Ethan stared at the screen, unblinking. No. That had to be a mistake. He tapped the GPS app, refreshing it, waiting for the little blue dot to correct itself. But there it was, blinking confidently over Barcelona’s bustling streets. His breath quickened. This was impossible. He hadn’t booked a flight. He hadn’t blacked out from drinking. He had been in Chicago last night, had fallen asleep in his own bed. There was no way he could be here. Unless— His mind grasped for logical explanations. Sleepwalking? Drugged? A prank? None of it made sense. He checked his phone again, scrolling through his call log, his messages. No missed calls, no texts, no notifications at all. That wasn’t normal. His best friend, Caleb, usually sent him stupid memes before bed. His sister, Hannah, always texted him in the mornings. But there was nothing. It was as if no one had even noticed he was gone. A knock at the door made him jump. His pulse hammered in his ears. He turned his head toward the sound, frozen. “Señor Carter?” A woman’s voice. Soft, professional. “Your breakfast is ready.” Ethan didn’t respond. His last name. She knew his last name. How? He stood slowly, moving toward the door with measured steps. His hand hovered over the doorknob, but he didn’t open it. Instead, he leaned in, listening. No movement. After a few seconds, he heard footsteps retreating down the hall. Ethan exhaled sharply, stepping back. His mind raced. There had to be an explanation. He turned back to the desk and spotted a notepad and pen. He grabbed the pen, flipped open the notepad, and wrote in quick, frantic strokes: March 14th. Woke up in Barcelona. No idea how. His fingers trembled as he underlined it twice. Get answers. Find out who brought me here. Get back to Chicago. He needed to move. Rushing to the small closet, he yanked it open. Inside, a leather jacket hung neatly next to a pair of jeans and sneakers. His size. His style. He hesitated before touching them. Were they really his? Or had someone dressed him, prepared this for him? He put them on anyway. He needed to blend in. Once dressed, he grabbed his phone again and checked for his passport. It was in the nightstand drawer, exactly where he’d expect it to be. He flipped to the first page, his own face staring back at him. Ethan Carter. His hands clenched around the booklet. It was his. The stamps inside even looked normal—until he saw the last one. Barcelona. Stamped yesterday. His breath hitched. He didn’t remember boarding a plane. He didn’t remember any of this. A cold wave of fear washed over him. He needed to get out of here. Escape Attempt Pushing aside his growing dread, he stuffed his passport into his jacket pocket and stepped out into the hallway. It was eerily quiet, lined with elegant sconces casting warm light against the cream-colored walls. The scent of fresh coffee and baked bread lingered in the air. He kept his head down as he walked toward the elevator. A bellhop passed him, nodding politely. Ethan forced a tight-lipped smile and stepped inside the elevator, pressing the button for the lobby. The doors slid shut. He exhaled sharply, gripping the rail. When the doors opened again, he stepped out into a bright, airy lobby. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, and large windows revealed the bustling city outside. People moved in and out of the building, speaking in different languages, carrying suitcases, hailing taxis. He didn’t stop to look around. He needed to get outside, get his bearings, figure out what the hell was happening. As soon as he stepped onto the sidewalk, the warm Mediterranean air wrapped around him. The sounds of Barcelona hit him all at once—car horns, laughter, the distant strumming of a street musician’s guitar. For a moment, the city felt almost normal. Almost real. But Ethan knew better. He pulled out his phone and opened a rideshare app. Nearest airport: El Prat. Good. He tapped to request a car. Within seconds, a driver was on the way. His chest tightened. Would it even matter? Would he even make it back to Chicago? Or would he fall asleep again and wake up somewhere else? The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He checked his notepad again, rereading his frantic handwriting. His only proof that this was real. That he was real. Then, just as his car pulled up to the curb, his phone screen flickered. The battery icon showed 100%, but the screen glitched again, the GPS blinking erratically. Then, a message appeared across the screen. "You are not ready to leave." Ethan’s blood ran cold. The phone slipped from his fingers. And the moment it hit the ground, the world around him blurred— Everything tilted— And Ethan Carter fell into darkness.
By Sandra Amiedor2 years ago in Chapters
The Edge of Tomorrow. AI-Generated.
Prologue: The Beginning of the End The night was thick with the scent of rain, though the sky had yet to open. The streets glistened under flickering streetlights, and the air carried the restless hum of a city that never truly slept. Nia sat on the rooftop of her home, legs folded beneath her, staring at the vastness of the sky. It was one of the few places that gave her space to breathe. Tonight, though, even the sky felt heavy. She gripped her journal, fingers tracing the edges of the worn cover. This notebook had been her constant companion, filled with scribbled thoughts, frustrations, and half-formed dreams. A lifeline when the world felt too loud, when expectations threatened to crush her. She flipped to the last page, where she had written a question weeks ago: "What do you want, Nia?" She exhaled sharply. She still didn’t know the answer. Life in her family had always been about survival. Work hard. Make ends meet. Don’t ask for more than what you’ve been given. Her father had spent years hammering those lessons into her, his voice as unyielding as the calluses on his hands. "The world is not kind to people who dream too much," he had told her once. "Keep your head down and do what you must." Her mother, Ada, had been a quiet force—a woman who carried the weight of the household on her back but never complained. She had always seemed tired, as if life had demanded too much from her too soon. And then there was Nia. The girl who had always wanted more but never knew how to ask for it. Until now. Because something inside her was shifting. She wasn’t sure when it had started—maybe the day she overheard her parents arguing about money again, or the moment she realized she was terrified of waking up ten years from now in the same place, with the same problems. Maybe it had been building for years. But tonight, as she sat on that rooftop, she knew one thing for certain. She couldn’t keep living like this. She was done waiting for life to change. She would have to change herself. The next morning, she made her first move. It was a small thing—insignificant to anyone else—but monumental to her. She walked into the local bookstore, a small, cluttered shop tucked between a tailor’s stall and a street vendor selling roasted corn. She had passed it a hundred times before but had never gone inside. This time, she did. The owner, Madam Kofo, raised an eyebrow as Nia hesitated by the entrance. She was an older woman, her presence commanding without needing to say much. “You lost?” Madam Kofo asked. Nia shook her head. “I… I need a book.” The woman smirked. “You’re in the right place, then.” Nia hesitated. “Something about… money. Business, maybe.” Madam Kofo’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Ah. You’re one of those children,” she said, but there was no mockery in her tone. Only curiosity. Nia frowned. “What does that mean?” Madam Kofo turned, pulling a book from the shelf and handing it to her. “It means you’re tired of the way things are.” Nia stared at the book in her hands. The Psychology of Money. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for, but this felt like a start. She nodded. “How much?” Madam Kofo studied her, then waved a hand. “First one is free. But if you waste it, I’ll make you pay double next time.” Nia blinked. “Why?” “Because knowledge should cost you something,” the woman said simply. “Even if it’s just the effort of taking it seriously.” Nia nodded slowly. “I won’t waste it.” Madam Kofo smiled. “Good.” And just like that, a door cracked open. One that Nia had no intention of closing. That night, she opened the book, flipping through its pages long after her parents had gone to bed. She read about how people stayed trapped in financial cycles because they were never taught anything different. How wealth wasn’t just about making money—it was about understanding it. She thought about her parents. About their endless struggle. About the life she didn’t want to inherit. And she made a decision. She wasn’t just going to wish for change. She was going to build it. Even if no one else believed in her. Even if it meant walking alone. For the first time in her life, she felt something settle inside her. A quiet kind of certainty. It wouldn’t be easy. But she was ready.
By Sandra Amiedor2 years ago in Chapters
Harper's Hill, Chapter 19: The Cost of Protection
Emily had finally found out the truth. She sat by the window in her small hotel room, looking outside and watching the world go by in a town that was a few hours away from home. It was big enough for her to hide in, but small enough that she didn't feel lost in it.
By Amanda Doyle2 years ago in Chapters
The Immortal King’s Ruin
Prologue The kingdom of Eldoria stood as a monument to human ambition. Vast, golden fields stretched beyond the eye could see, their bounty feeding not only the mouths of the people but also the pride of their ruler. At its heart, the great capital, Vareth, boasted towers that touched the sky, temples that hummed with prayers of devotion, and streets paved with stones that had felt the footsteps of generations. And above it all sat King Eryon, a man who had once been the pride of Eldoria. He had been a king of wisdom, of courage, of vision. His rule had ushered in an age of peace and prosperity, his leadership praised not only by his subjects but by neighboring lands. To the outside world, he was a legend in the making, a name that would be etched into history with reverence. But what is history to the dead? This question had plagued Eryon’s mind for years. It had started as a whisper, a quiet thought that lingered in the back of his consciousness, surfacing only in moments of solitude. Then, as the years passed and the first strands of silver threaded through his once-dark hair, it grew louder, more insistent. At first, he ignored it. He had his kingdom to tend to, laws to enforce, treaties to sign, and armies to command. But time was relentless. His hands, once steady, began to tremble ever so slightly. The strength he had wielded in his youth, both in body and in mind, was fading. The inevitable had made itself known, lurking in the shadows of his days, in the silence of his nights. He could not accept it. Eldoria had been his creation, his masterpiece. He had shaped it with his own hands, bled for it, suffered for it. He could not bear to think that one day, the world would go on without him. That the people who now worshipped his name would move on, that new rulers would come and rewrite the story he had spent a lifetime crafting. He was not afraid of death itself—no, he was afraid of being forgotten. And so, obsession took root in his heart. It started with scholars, men and women who had dedicated their lives to the pursuit of knowledge. They were summoned to the palace, given access to the king’s vast resources, and tasked with finding ways to extend life. At first, they spoke of mundane things—elixirs of health, restorative herbs, diets that promoted longevity. But Eryon was not interested in living long. He wanted to live forever. When scholars failed him, he turned to the mystics. They arrived in secrecy, cloaked figures whispering of ancient arts, of powers beyond the reach of common men. He listened to their words, devoured their knowledge, and soon found himself immersed in a world that defied logic. He was told of lost civilizations that had harnessed the secrets of immortality. Of forgotten gods who had once walked among mortals, untouched by time. Of spells and rituals that could tether a soul to this world, unbreakable, unyielding. And so, the great transformation of King Eryon began. His court, once filled with advisors, warriors, and diplomats, became a place of secrecy and whispers. He spent his days in the depths of the castle, surrounded by books of forbidden knowledge, listening to the counsel of those who walked in the shadows. His people noticed. At first, it was small things. The king, once a man of the people, no longer walked among them. His speeches grew infrequent, his presence scarce. The celebrations and festivals that had once defined Eldoria’s golden age dwindled. The warmth of the palace turned cold. Then came the laws. Strange decrees were passed, restricting certain types of knowledge while encouraging others. Temples dedicated to gods of death and rebirth were torn down, their priests cast out or worse. The kingdom, once ruled by reason, began to tilt into superstition and fear. But the people, though uneasy, remained loyal. For their king was wise. Had he not built Eldoria into what it was? If he now sought something greater, was it not his right? And so they watched, waiting, wondering what would come of their ruler’s pursuit. They did not know that, in his desperate grasp for eternity, he had already doomed them all. The first true sign of the kingdom’s unraveling came in the form of a drought. The rivers that had once flowed endlessly, feeding the lands, began to thin. The wells, once abundant, grew shallow. The sky, once a brilliant blue, turned gray, as if the heavens themselves were mourning. At first, the people dismissed it as nature’s whim. But as weeks turned into months, and the ground cracked beneath their feet, their faith wavered. Whispers spread. "The king has angered the gods." "He meddles with forces beyond his understanding." "He seeks to defy death, but at what cost?" But Eryon did not listen. His vision had narrowed to a single point: the moment of his transformation. He did not see the way his kingdom suffered, nor did he care for the growing unrest among his people. The hunger, the sickness, the fear—it was all secondary. His alchemists, his mystics, his sorcerers—they promised him he was close. That the final step was upon him. That soon, he would transcend. And so, he prepared. The ritual was set to take place under the next full moon, in the grand hall of the palace. It was to be the moment that sealed his name in history, that ensured Eldoria would always remember its greatest king. He had no way of knowing that by dawn, his kingdom would be lost forever.
By Sandra Amiedor2 years ago in Chapters