Fantasy

Black Scales III
It's amazing how much braver you can be when there isn't a fire-breathing monster nearby. Orla took a good look at the girl, who didn't look like a dragon at all. She'd scrambled up on a nearby rock and was staring down at Orla, hefting a large stick in her hand.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
Black Scales II
The closer Orla got, the stronger the stinging stink. Smoky of course, with a chemical edge. The way it scorched the tender insides of her nostrils and the back of her throat, it bothered her more than the sharp black rocks tearing at her feet. The sun would be up soon, warming the stones. Of course, they say the creature is more likely to be active then, but it could be watching her even now, and waiting for its moment to flame. The rocky spine jutting out into the water felt lonely and exposed. Nothing to hide behind. Hard to run.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
“Glassheart”
Chapter 1: The Eternal Flame In the quiet coastal town of Emberly Cove, Maine, where the Atlantic whispered secrets against jagged cliffs, the Glassheart Festival was a beacon of romance. Every October, on the eve of the autumn equinox, lovers gathered to light glass lanterns—delicate, hand-blown orbs said to capture the essence of their love. Legend claimed the lanterns, crafted by the town’s founder, a heartbroken alchemist named Elara Glass, could bind two souls eternally, their flames burning as long as the love endured. Most saw it as folklore, a charming excuse for a festival, but for Mira Cole, it was a sacred ritual.
By HearthMenabout a year ago in Fiction
Journey to Hope. AI-Generated.
The days on Hope passed in a blur of strange beauty and quiet unease. The crew had begun to map the surrounding terrain: smooth hills of silver grass, still lakes that reflected twin suns, and soil that pulsed faintly beneath their boots. Every reading they took made less sense than the last.
By Emma Fischerabout a year ago in Fiction
"Let's Build a Tunnel!"
"Hello, Elon?" "Yes, Mr.President." "I have our friend Vladimir on the line here. He suggested you start building a tunnel between Russia and Alaska."
By Lana V Lynxabout a year ago in Fiction
The Ink of Fate. AI-Generated.
The sun hung low over the crooked trail that wound up the side of Mount Aster, its orange glow spilling over the sharp rocks and whispering pines. On a small ledge halfway up stood a wooden stall, barely held together by rusted nails and hope.
By Ghanni malikabout a year ago in Fiction
Last Bus
Rain falls. The plaza shines under sodium lamps, and the air smells like wet metal as I hurry toward the idling bus whose display stutters, then holds on one word: LAST.
By Milan Milicabout a year ago in Fiction
Black Scales. Top Story - October 2025.
Every evening, the small children were sent to the shore to collect the dragon scales. When the pink warmth and light of the evening had finally faded, mothers kissed chubby cheeks and held back tears. Some shot fearful glances towards the lake, and others were steadfast in avoiding looking in that direction.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
DON'T BLINK
I don’t know when it started. Maybe it was the rain from that afternoon. Heavy, rhythmic, drumming a cold insistence against the office windows. Maybe it was that blink I didn’t notice until afterward, when the world had quietly shifted a fraction of a second ahead of me.
By Pamela Dirrabout a year ago in Fiction
Journey to Hope. AI-Generated.
The year was 3857, Earth had fallen silent. Once blue and alive, it now hung in space like a rusted coin dry oceans, burned skies, cities swallowed by dust. Humanity had taken everything it could from its cradle and left behind a lifeless shell. For centuries, people drifted through the dark in giant space stations, praying for another home. And then they found one. Four hundred seventeen years away, hidden behind a dying red star, astronomers detected a planet. Its atmosphere shimmered with oxygen, its surface glowed faintly with oceans and clouds. The data was impossible to ignore. Humanity called it Hope.
By Emma Fischerabout a year ago in Fiction
The Nyxorian Bond:
The sky was filled with solemn hues of red and violet. The smell of blood filled the noses of those that had not yet fallen. The radiant and floating city, once hailed as a heavenly utopia, now overflowed with the screams of the last of its people.
By Kayla Habout a year ago in Fiction
The Iron
One day, an old woman bought a cheap but working iron from a junk dealer at a flea market. She needed it to press her favourite old dresses and tablecloths. Her pension barely covered her living expenses — she couldn’t afford more.
By VaadMystabout a year ago in Fiction