Adventure
Adventures of Oahron (prologue)
Preface This story is based off of the starting point of a sci-fi fantasy war story I wrote some years ago. I am taking the beginning portion of an early draft of my book and splitting it into short stories (probably 3 short stories) based off of my main character Oahron in his early childhood. This is an ongoing draft and may be a bit jagged and in need of editing. Please show support for this project to help support a bigger work based on these promotional stories I will be sharing freely online.
By Netanel Lynn2 years ago in Fiction
The Sour Card Game: Final Hand(Part two)
“Sour. Sour, f*ing card game,” Cole muttered, staring into the dying embers of his campfire. The desert stretched endlessly before him, quiet and haunting under the starlit sky. In his hands, he held the note Jenny had left him—its creased edges were worn from his constant handling.
By Abdallah Sherif2 years ago in Fiction
Cricket Match. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
Arjun, a young cricket enthusiast, dreamed of playing in the grand Cricket League tournament. With his old smartphone in hand, he practiced daily in the virtual world, mastering every shot, spin, and strategy. His passion for the game was unmatched, and soon he became one of the top-ranked players.
By malaysia menu2 years ago in Fiction
Unexpected Connections. Content Warning.
Micaela and I had been together for what felt like a lifetime. We’d fallen in love one sun-drenched summer when we were twenty, our connection as natural as the turning of the tides. I had always been faithful to her, and I believed she was the same not out of obligation, but out of a deep, mutual respect.
By Tales by J.J.2 years ago in Fiction
The Library of Lost Memories
Marissa wasn’t sure how she ended up on the street that night. She’d been walking to clear her head, overwhelmed by the weight of recent events: a broken engagement, the loss of a childhood friend, and a career that no longer felt fulfilling.
By Mira Langston2 years ago in Fiction
The Train to Nowhere
Sam had always loved trains—the way they hummed through the world, carrying passengers to new destinations. But this train was different. It had appeared out of nowhere, an old-fashioned locomotive gleaming under the glow of the city streetlights, despite no tracks in sight.
By Mira Langston2 years ago in Fiction
The Night the Moon Spoke
Ella had always been drawn to the moon. As a child, she would sit on her tiny balcony, whispering her secrets to the glowing orb in the sky, pretending it whispered back. But as she grew older, the weight of life silenced her midnight talks. Dreams faded, routines set in, and the magic she once believed in felt like a distant memory.
By Mira Langston2 years ago in Fiction
The Cosmic Arbiter: Guardian of Balance
The Catholic Arbiter In the vast, amaranthine carpeting of the cosmos, area stars are built-in and galaxies collide, there exists an article of incomparable ability and neutrality accepted as the Catholic Arbiter. Neither apprenticed by time nor accountable by space, the Arbiter is the abiding adjudicator of the universe, tasked with advancement antithesis amid conception and destruction, adjustment and chaos. Legends aside by age-old civilizations call the Arbiter as a aerial amount of alive catholic energies. Its anatomy is ever-changing—a admixture of bouncing galaxies, supernova bursts, and the abysmal atramentous abandoned of space. Its eyes, accompanying orbs of blinding light, bore through the bolt of reality, seeing into the affection of every soul, every star, and every shadow. For eons, the Arbiter remained dormant, celebratory the aerial calm of the cosmos. It intervened alone aback the scales angled too far in one direction. Entire civilizations, whose ambitions grew too destructive, were asleep with a bald beachcomber of its hand. On the added hand, aback the armament of anarchy threatened to break the universe, the Arbiter adequate adjustment with the attention of a catholic craftsman. The Summoning The adventure begins on a planet accepted as Arathar—a beaming jewel of azure and emerald hues nestled in the folds of a adolescent galaxy. The Arathari bodies were accepted for their acumen and advancements in technology, but airs had taken basis in their society. They approved to accouter the activity of a atramentous aperture to ammunition their ambitions of intergalactic conquest. This adventuresome act beatific ripples through the cosmos, abolition the aerial antithesis that the Arbiter had agilely attentive for millennia. The Arbiter stirred, its coma disconnected by the cacophony of disorder. From its aerial head at the bend of existence, it rose, the galaxies aural its anatomy bouncing faster as it able to accost the antecedent of this disturbance. The Trial of Arathar The Arbiter appeared aloft Arathar as a colossal amount that askew the planet itself. The skies darkened, and the Arathari trembled as their planet was bathed in the Arbiter's beaming glow. Time itself seemed to abeyance as the Arbiter descended into the affection of the Arathari capital. The Arathari High Council, adorned in their august robes, stood afore the Arbiter, their faces anemic with fear. The Arbiter's articulation resonated not through complete but through the minds of every active actuality on the planet. "Arathar, you accept disrupted the antithesis of the cosmos. Your appetite has unleashed anarchy aloft the universe. You angle accused of carelessness and hubris. How do you plead?" The council's leader, a aggressive amount called Lyrian, stepped forward. "We approved alone to drag our people, to alleviate the mysteries of the universe," he said, his articulation abashed yet resolute. The Arbiter's boring broken through him. "Your intentions are irrelevant. The after-effects of your accomplishments allege louder than your words. Antithesis charge be restored." The Judgment The Arbiter continued its hand, and the planet's history unraveled afore it—a carpeting of innovation, ambition, and arrogance. The Arbiter saw the accuracy of the Arathari but additionally the atramentous of their absolved desires. "You are a bodies of abundant potential," the Arbiter declared, its articulation alveolate aloft the stars. "Yet your airs has brought you to the border of annihilation. I action you a choice: carelessness your annihilative aisle and address your actuality to the canning of balance, or face the after-effects of your actions." The Arathari were accustomed a day to decide—a cursory moment in catholic agreement but an aeon for the abashed council. Debate raged aloft the planet. Some advocated for compliance, seeing the Arbiter's acumen as a adventitious for redemption. Others, led by Lyrian, argued that abandonment was a betrayal of their ideals. The Reckoning As the borderline approached, Lyrian and his followers attempted to baffle the Arbiter, activating the atramentous aperture activity accessory in a atrocious bid to authenticate their superiority. The Arbiter, celebratory from above, sighed—a impaired announcement of disappointment that resonated aloft the universe. With a beachcomber of its hand, the Arbiter annulled the device, its activity dispersing harmlessly into the void. The Arbiter angry its boring aback to Arathar. "You accept fabricated your choice." In an instant, the Arbiter unleashed its power. The planet was belted in a beaming ablaze as the Arbiter bare abroad the annihilative technology and ambitions of the Arathari, abrogation abaft alone their acumen and a renewed affiliation to their planet. The Arbiter did not abort them but ashamed them, giving them a adventitious to alpha anew. The Abiding Watcher With its assignment complete, the Arbiter alternate to its branch at the bend of existence, area it resumed its acuity over the universe. The Arathari, now a ashamed and wiser people, committed themselves to attention the antithesis of their apple and the conception beyond. The Arbiter's accomplishments became a cautionary account for civilizations aloft the universe—a admonition that the antithesis of conception is brittle and that alike the best avant-garde societies are not aloft the acumen of the Catholic Arbiter. The Arbiter watches still, an abiding guardian of balance, accessible to arbitrate aback the scales tip too far, ensuring that the ball of conception and abolition continues in accord aloft the absolute amplitude of the cosmos.
By Say the truth 2 years ago in Fiction
The Counter and the Coal
Not even otherworldly reindeer who fly are undying, and Dasher and Artist and Prancer and Lady, Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen were stories of Christmas mornings that had since a long time ago happen. Rudolph himself lived seventeen years: a good life expectancy for the typical hostage reindeer. In no way, shape or form a supernatural occurrence. Except if such a reindeer was among the fortunate not many to be housed in that frame of mind of a certain, southern toy shop. These reindeer would in general be more limited lived than most. Each Christmas a couple of St Nick's reindeer would miss the mark concerning the necessities expected to zoom all over the planet. This was not an incredible cumbrance to the actual mission. St Nick's brain was however sharp as his tummy seemed to be round, and he realize that the reindeer who couldn't last the excursion would be dead or near it once they arrived at Russia's nose, which seems to be that of an elephant seal. Then it would be set for The Frozen North. St Nick's sled, short a few reindeer, would fly across the Bering Ocean as leisurely as the petrels. Men on modern fishing boats would look into, point, and shout. Then they'd joke that Christmas would require an augmentation. It won't ever do. In the inside of Gold country, there carried on with a man of gigantic cash and very little riches, and individuals who realized him had named him the Counter. The Counter resided in a frail shack, where he slumped in his work area before the hearth, endlessly counting the cash he'd made off his reindeer the earlier years. 43 years, to be careful. At the point when the fire consumed low in order to make this cycle troublesome, he would get a piece of wood, throw it into the hearth, and his unending count, until he'd come to accept that the actual cash was the wellspring of his glow. Yet, until he could stand to purchase such a reality, somebody actually needed to slash the kindling. This somebody was a little fellow, an offspring of the clans who, a long time back, had been purchased with the Counter's cash. Or on the other hand rather, the dangers that would in general go with it, as certain as the obliteration that goes with a fire. The Counter enlightened him nothing regarding his legacy, other than the account of how his kin consumed the cash that had sold his actual life. They threw the rolled up bills — precisely 25 bucks — into the flares that cooked their meat. The kid got the feeling that his lord thought them fools for this. He, at the end of the day, didn't.
By Parmesh Patil2 years ago in Fiction
