Fantasy

Man Behind the Mask
I was ten years old when I saw a hero for the first time up close and personal. He didn’t land with a boom or a flash of light. He crashed. A tangle of limbs and spandex, skidding across the wet asphalt of Jalan Tun Razak, knocking over a stack of plastic chairs outside a mamak stall. The coffee cups shattered. The tea splashed like dark blood on the pavement.
By Mark Lim about a month ago in Fiction
I Was Born a Lightning Bolt. They Chose Me to Burn the World.
1. The Cloud Nest My mother was a bolt of gold-purple light. My father was a slow-turning mass of blue and white. Their glow braided together, two tight threads, and pulled me from a spark into something with a name.
By Jinabout a month ago in Fiction
Stitch: The Scent of Rain
You smell jasmine first. Not the soft, powdery kind that blows through open lace curtains in the spring. This jasmine is sharp, almost bitter, tangled with the thick, oily perfume of crushed neroli and the heavy, metallic scent of rain. It is the exact sensory loop that has haunted your sleep since childhood, a phantom aroma that always wakes you up with your pulse hammering against your throat. It is the only warning you get before you step into the clearing.
By Syl De'Vilabout a month ago in Fiction
Lie in the Light
A symbol of everything people like me were told to believe in. Hope. Justice. Protection. The idea that if you are good, if you follow the rules, if you keep your head down and do your work, someone will come to save you. Someone with power will use it for you, not against you. Someone will see your suffering and intervene.
By Mark Lim about a month ago in Fiction
Stitch: The Wire Song.. Content Warning.
The winter hunger isn't a rumble in your belly; it is a hollow, driving madness that consumes your entire mind. For six grueling months, you haven't been a girl named Sara. You haven't worn your heavy hiking boots or thought about a home back in Maine. Something deep and unexplainable broke inside your psyche under the weight of everything that you carry, and you fled, trapped entirely inside the thick, striking coat of a fox.
By Syl De'Vilabout a month ago in Fiction
The Guardians Report. Top Story - September 2026.
Each year, as the Earth turns on its axis and spins round the wobbling sun, the light lessens by about three minutes a day at this time of year in this region of Canada. The blooms in the gardens, still reflect the glorious rays of sun that fall upon them, until the roars of the autumn winds chase the sweet whispering breezes and scents of summer away.
By Katherine D. Grahamabout a month ago in Fiction
Stitch:The Alpine Crimson
The biting, sub‑zero wind howling across the Swiss Alps didn’t just freeze the skin; it carved straight into the bone. For miles in every direction, the landscape was a blinding, desolate canvas of white and jagged grey peak. The winter air was so thin it felt like breathing shattered glass, carrying nothing but the lonely roar of the wind and the constant threat of an avalanche.
By Syl De'Vilabout a month ago in Fiction
Stitch: Winter Freeze of '96
The regional BMX track outside of Orlando was a chaotic, dust-choked ring of adrenaline and family friction in late October of 1996. The heat was sitting at a sweltering ninety-two degrees, the thick Florida air smelling heavily of fried concessions, melting tire rubber, and copper-rich dirt. Ted sat on a folding lawn chair near the starting gate, a pair of dark aviators hiding his critical gaze as he watched the brackets warm up. Next to him, Lisa was meticulously organizing the cooler, ensuring the sports drinks were perfectly packed in ice.
By Syl De'Vilabout a month ago in Fiction
Stitch. Out of Season
After four weeks of trying to stitch herself back into a life she barely remembered, Sara Foxgrave starts to realize that whatever followed her home isn’t done with her. Maine is supposed to be safe. Normal. Predictable. But when a summer flower blooms in the dead of October, Sara learns that reality has no intention of staying in its lane.
By Syl De'Vilabout a month ago in Fiction
Blessings of the Cherokee Spirit Gods.
Chebon the Spirit guide , Medicine Man of the Mountain Cherokee tribe, stood in quiet contemplation of the land. A miracle had happened which he could not explain. The Great Spirits had blessed them.
By Novel Allenabout a month ago in Fiction
Blur Above the Buildings
A blur above the buildings. It was there, and then it was gone, a smudge of primary colors against the slate-grey sky, moving faster than the eye could track. It didn’t leave a trail. It didn’t make a sound. It just existed for a fraction of a second, a violation of physics that demanded belief. A streak of red, a flash of blue, a defiance of gravity that felt like a personal insult to the laws of nature that held the rest of us down.
By Mark Lim about a month ago in Fiction
Shadow Syndicate
Black Dragons. The name sounded like something out of a comic book or a myth whispered around campfires to scare children into obedience. But in the humid, neon-lit underbelly of Kuala Lumpur, it was real. It was tangible. It was the invisible architecture that held up the city’s skyline, just as much as the steel beams and concrete pillars.
By Mark Lim about a month ago in Fiction