Adventure
The Forest of the Forgotten
The Council of Shadows met in the hollow of an ancient oak tree so massive that its interior could house a dozen people comfortably. Amnity had been here only twice before—once when she'd first been recognized as a healer worthy of official notice, and once when she'd requested permission to gather rare ingredients from the protected groves. Both times, the experience had left her feeling small and overwhelmed by the weight of tradition and authority that seemed to seep from the very walls.
By Parsley Rose about a year ago in Fiction
The Cosmic Nomad's Burden
The Star-Sworn was not a ship; it was a tombkeeper’s silent procession. Its halls echoed with the ghosts of worlds. In its climate-controlled vaults rested the last of their kind: the Final Seed of the Xylosian Crystal Forests, the Last Egg of the Azure Wyvern of Lyra, the Root-Spore of the Singing Fungi of Kepler-186f. Kaelen was their guardian, the last of the Starfarer order. His purpose was singular: to keep them safe until a new, safe world could be found.
By Habibullahabout a year ago in Fiction
5 Minute Romance: The Ski Lift
Anita skated forward clumsily towards the dip in the snow. She heard the grind of the ski lift’s overhead gears and watched anxiously as the chair in front whumped against the skiers before her. This was it, her first time taking the lift by herself. Memories of her first attempt last season resurfaced, warming her skin with embarrassment. She hadn’t been prepared for the lift’s speed and how it knocked her feet out from underneath her. Her skis had gone flying. Everything had to be stopped for several minutes.
By Valerie Taylorabout a year ago in Fiction
The Doors of Tazir
For the first time in a thousand years, the knock would be answered. Sha'tia knew what would happen as she descended the spiraling staircase into the dark, bellowing depths below the great sloping walls of the fortress Ark that dominated Tazir City’s skyline. The others of the Blessed One Hundred descended with her, not bothering to keep their voices down. After all, there was only one subject of discussion, and the discussions were not private.
By Matthew J. Frommabout a year ago in Fiction
The Memory Sculptor
Silas’s workshop smelled of old wood, beeswax, and something else, something intangible: the scent of yesterday. He was a Memory Sculptor. He didn’t erase—that was a crude, dangerous art. He refined. He softened edges. He helped people carry their past without being crushed by it.
By Habibullahabout a year ago in Fiction
The Forest of the Forgotten
Ellie woke to the sound of gentle rain pattering against Amnity's cottage windows, a soft rhythm that felt like Nova welcoming her back to consciousness. She was still wearing her festival dress from the night before, though someone—Amnity—had draped a quilt over her where she'd fallen asleep on the small couch.
By Parsley Rose about a year ago in Fiction
