Fan Fiction

The Digital Detox Revelation
Lena’s world was a symphony of information. Holographic screens floated around her apartment, each a river of news feeds, social updates, and market data. As a Data Stream Curator, her value was her ability to stay connected, to spot trends in the chaos. She was good at it. The constant hum was the sound of success.
By Habibullahabout a year ago in Fiction
Whispers in the Mirror
Lena had always been drawn to old things. When she inherited her grandmother’s mansion, she spent hours exploring its dusty halls. But there was one room she avoided—a small parlor with a cracked mirror. Every time she glanced at it, she felt a chill crawl up her spine.
By Aramabout a year ago in Fiction
Tomorrow’s Dream
Tomorrow’s Dream Every time Mira closed her eyes, she saw pieces of her future. Not all of it—just flashes, scenes stitched together like film reels, looping in the quiet of her dreams.
By Lena Valeabout a year ago in Fiction
Echoes of Tomorrow
The sun was sinking low on the horizon, casting a warm, amber glow across the ocean. Nathan stood at the edge of the cliff, his eyes tracing the waves as they crashed against the rocks below. The wind tugged at his coat, whipping his hair into wild strands, but he barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere—lost in the thoughts of a time long passed, of promises made and forgotten.
By Asif shahabout a year ago in Fiction
The Fox and the Jackal
The night was heavy with silence, broken only by the hum of insects and the distant cry of an owl. A full moon glowed pale and watchful above the forest, casting long shadows that seemed to whisper secrets of the wild. Beneath its cold light sat two creatures known for their wits and sharp tongues—a fox with fur like flame and a jackal cloaked in gray.
By Alam khanabout 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
💌 The Letter I Never Sent
The envelope was yellowed with time, its edges curled as though it had been holding its breath for years. Maya found it buried under old notebooks while cleaning her drawer one rainy afternoon. The handwriting on the front stopped her cold—her own, shaky and uneven, scrawled when she was sixteen.
By Aminullahabout 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 Train That Never Came
Maya hated waiting. She hated the long wooden benches of train stations, the faint smell of oil and rust in the air, the clock hands dragging slower than time itself. But most of all, she hated the feeling of not being in control.
By Aminullahabout a year ago in Fiction
The AI Oracle of Truth
The Chamber of Veritas was the quietest place on Earth. It had to be. Noise—emotional, informational, or auditory—could cloud the purity of the answer. People called the entity at its center the Oracle. It was an AI, built not for efficiency or automation, but for a single purpose: to discern and deliver objective, verifiable truth.
By Habibullahabout a year ago in Fiction
The Attack
The Attack ‘Help’ the villagers cried, ‘we are under attack.’ The villagers of the Aftar cried as the forces of Death Adder began kicking down the door of the church. The church had been granted arcane protection by the village elder, a man by the name of Galen Oatward, but these protections wouldn’t last long.
By Alan Walkerabout a year ago in Fiction
The Stranger That Knocked at My Door in Autumn
A knock came soft at autumn’s breath, Between the dusk and twilight’s death. The wind had stripped the branches bare, And whispered secrets through the air.
By Imoh Belabout a year ago in Fiction