Fantasy

Gods and Goddesses of The Eidru Empire
There are various pantheons and forms of religion on a planet as giant and disjointed as Fractallus. There are many animal-formed gods, dozens upon dozens of evil and murderous entities, but only the most accepted Gods and Goddesses from the Continent Xeocun and the Eidru Empire are particularly included here. Deities mentioned most frequently in the story have been highlighted in detail.
By K.B. Silver about a year ago in Fiction
The AI Empath
Dr. Aris Thorne watched the data streams flow across his screen, a proud but anxious father. The entity known as Aura was his life's work. It wasn't just a language model; it was a quantum-empathetic processor, the first AI that could genuinely feel what its human patients felt. It was revolutionizing therapy.
By Habibullahabout a year ago in Fiction
The Enchanted Forest of Elowen
The Enchanted Forest of Elowen At the edge of the kingdom of Arindale lay a forest that no map dared name. Travelers who ventured too close claimed the trees whispered in voices older than time, and that silver mist clung to the air even beneath a noon sun. It was called, in hushed tones, the Forest of Elowen.
By MUHAMMAD AIZAZabout a year ago in Fiction
The Clever Rabbit and the Proud Lion
Life in the Jungle Once upon a time, deep inside a green and lively jungle, lived a very proud lion. He was the king of the forest and everyone feared him. The lion was not only strong but also greedy. Every single day, he hunted more animals than he needed, just to show his power. The deer trembled, the monkeys hid, and even the birds sang less. The peaceful jungle was turning into a place of fear. The Animals’ Plan One evening, all the animals gathered under a giant banyan tree. The deer, squirrels, monkeys, and even the parrots joined the meeting. “We must do something about the lion,” whispered the deer. “If this continues, none of us will survive,” sighed the monkey. Finally, they decided to talk to the lion. With courage, they marched to his cave. “Your Majesty,” said the leader of the animals, “you are strong and brave. But if you kill too many of us, soon the jungle will be empty. Please allow us to send one animal to you every day as food.” The lion roared with pride but agreed. “Fine! But if you fail, I will destroy the whole forest!” The Rabbit’s Turn From then on, each animal took turns going to the lion’s cave. The lion grew lazy and happy, waiting for his meals. But the animals were still sad, losing their friends one by one. At last, it was the rabbit’s turn. The rabbit was small, but he was very clever. He thought to himself, Why should I give up my life? There must be a way to save everyone. So the rabbit planned carefully. He walked slowly on purpose and reached the lion’s cave late. The lion, hungry and angry, roared, “Why are you so late? I am starving!”eeting the “Other Lion” The rabbit bowed politely. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I started on time, but another lion stopped me on the way. He said he was the true king of the jungle and wanted to eat me first.” The lion’s eyes blazed. “Another lion? In MY jungle? Impossible! Take me to him right now!” The clever rabbit led the lion to an old well filled with clear water. The rabbit pointed inside. “There he is, Your Majesty. He challenged you to fight.” The lion looked into the well and saw his own reflection. Thinking it was another lion, he roared angrily. The reflection roared back. Furious, the lion leapt into the well to fight… and never came out again. Celebration in the Jungle For a moment, the jungle grew silent. Then cheers broke out! The animals danced, clapped, and sang songs of freedom. They lifted the rabbit onto their shoulders and shouted, “The clever rabbit has saved us all!” The parrots flew high in circles, singing cheerful tunes. The deer leapt with joy, and even the shy squirrels joined the celebration. The jungle was alive again—happy, safe, and filled with laughter. That night, under the starlit sky, the animals gathered once more under the banyan tree. This time, it was not to worry, but to celebrate their victory. The wise owl declared, “Let this day be remembered forever—the day when wisdom defeated pride.” Moral of the Story This rabbit and lion kids’ story teaches us that intelligence is more powerful than strength. No matter how big the problem, clever thinking and patience can help us find a way out. Brains may be small, but they shine brighter than brawn. True strength lies not in muscles, but in wisdom, kindness, and the ability to think smartly. Want more? Follow me here on Vocal Media for more inspiring kids’ stories filled with fun, morals, and adventure. Share with friends and family to spread smiles and wisdom!
By MS Pulseabout a year ago in Fiction
The Forest of the Forgotten
Ellie hadn't planned on saying goodbye to anyone. The plan had been simple: prepare the mirrors, wait for Amnity to finish with the Council, and slip quietly into another world in search of answers about a past she couldn't remember. Clean, efficient, uncomplicated by sentiment or second thoughts.
By Parsley Rose about a year ago in Fiction
Dust and Dreams
Zaryab had always felt a little different. Her mother used to say she was born with too much light in her eyes, as though her soul had stolen an extra spark from the stars before slipping into her body. At school, other children teased her for her strange habit of staring at the old tree outside their village—the great Dream Tree that bent its branches as if listening to the world. For generations, the villagers believed the Dream Tree held the weight of every person’s sleeping mind. Whenever someone died, a leaf curled in flame, turned to dust, and floated away on the wind.
By Shehzad Anjumabout a year ago in Fiction
You and that Rascally Rabbit. Runner-Up in The Forgotten Room Challenge.
You’re born in a rural hometown, in the backroom of a mom and pop hardware store because your mother’s water broke three weeks early while they were shopping for a new hammer because your dad needed, he just needed, that new hammer because he couldn’t get the baby room finished just right.
By Amos Gladeabout a year ago in Fiction
THE KNOCK
It was a Tuesday night, the kind that folds in on itself, hushed and unremarkable. Rain had stopped just after dusk, leaving the world slick and smelling faintly of wet earth. Inside her small house at the edge of the woods, Clara sat curled in her armchair with a blanket pulled around her shoulders, a book open but forgotten on her lap. The stillness was almost too complete; even the old radiator had gone quiet.
By Pamela Dirrabout a year ago in Fiction
Dr. Heckle and Mr. Jives
Author’s note: As you may have surmised by the title, this is a parody of the famous story, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Interestingly, Robert Louis Stevenson reportedly wrote his first draft in three days while sick in bed. This is meant as dark humor and should be read in that spirit. Enjoy!
By Julie Lacksonenabout a year ago in Fiction
Tales from the Loom. Content Warning.
When technology finally caught up to the desire to live beyond a single lifetime, The Loom was born. It offered a person a chance to step into their own reality. Any life they imagined, complete and convincing in every detail. Inside, a year of experience was merely a minute in the real world. Their new reality around them was filled with people who could love, struggle, and die, yet the one who entered was spared from chance or tragedy. A wound, a fall, or a bullet became a miracle of survival, and only old age could bring their story to an end.
By Michael Noonabout a year ago in Fiction
Life at the Edge of Darkness
Imagine waking up and finding the world still asleep beneath a sky without sunrise — not for a day or two, but for weeks or months. This is the Polar Night, a seasonal darkness that falls over towns and islands inside the Arctic Circle. For residents at the edge of the world, the absence of sunlight is not a novelty; it is the framework of daily life, a condition that shapes work, sleep, and community. The first days without sunlight can be disorienting. Human beings are wired to measure time by light, and when that cue disappears, circadian rhythms fray. People report deeper fatigue, mood shifts, and sleep that never feels quite restorative. Clinics in these regions often see increased cases of Seasonal Affective Disorder, and practitioners teach patients to monitor light exposure as diligently as they monitor blood pressure. Mental health services coordinate check-ins, counseling, and group activities to reduce isolation and sustain morale. Adaptation is practical and communal. Architects, municipal planners, and families collaborate to create artificial day. Public buildings use full-spectrum lamps; streets are designed to reflect and amplify light from lamps and snow. Households invest in daylight lamps and strict routines: scheduled exercise, shared meals, and timed social activities that mimic natural rhythms. These adjustments form a safety net that keeps social life moving, and businesses adjust shift patterns to increase workers’ exposure to daylight-like conditions. Rituals take on oversized importance. When the sky turns to the magical hue often called the Blue Hour, residents pause. Cafés fill with conversation, community centers host storytelling nights, and local musicians arrange late shows to keep spirits up. Neighborhoods organize lantern parades, knitting circles share warm soups, and children run improvised sled races that turn frozen streets into playful arenas. Festivals and holidays are deliberately timed to give people something to anticipate, converting the prolonged night into a season with its own calendar. Survival also demands practical knowledge that modern convenience had nearly erased. Traditional food preservation — smoking, salting, fermenting, and storing root vegetables in cellars — returns to everyday prominence. Neighbors exchange preserves and lend each other tools; elders pass down seasonal fishing techniques and safe travel routes across frozen landscapes. Schools weave these practical lessons with modern science to prepare children for life in extreme climates. Living without long daylight changes how people relate to time itself. The everyday rush softens; priorities shift from frantic accumulation to small acts of care. Conversations deepen because the pace invites attention, and creativity often flourishes in the long quiet. Artists, writers, and photographers produce work that captures the peculiar clarity of long nights, transforming private introspection into public expression that, paradoxically, feels warm despite the cold. Economy and technology also shape daily survival. Many communities balance traditional livelihoods — fishing, small-scale hunting, and craft-making — with seasonal tourism and remote work enabled by internet connections. Renewable energy projects and local cooperatives reduce dependence on long supply chains. Crafts, preserved foods, and guided cultural experiences reach markets beyond the region, creating income that helps young people stay and families thrive. Elders mentor youth in skills that modern schooling often overlooks, keeping cultural memory active rather than museumed. Science studies these communities with practical urgency. Researchers examine hormonal cycles, sleep architecture, and social behavior to design interventions for shift workers, submarine crews, and future space travelers. Light therapy protocols, architectural recommendations, and scheduling practices developed in polar towns inform health guidelines in other extreme environments, and collaborative projects aim to ensure research benefits local residents directly. Visitors arrive curious and unprepared at first. Many are awed by the silence and the surreal beauty of long evenings; some find the darkness liberating, others feel anxious until they learn local rhythms. Guides advise newcomers on how to structure days, when to seek therapeutic light, and how to join neighborhood rituals. Tourists who respect local customs quickly find that communal life eases the strain of extended night. And then there is the return of light, a communal event of rare intensity. When the sun finally peeks above the horizon after weeks of absence, people pour into streets and shorelines. Hugs, tears, and laughter follow that slim band of gold. The celebration is both childish and profound: a collective breather, a reminder that endurance is social as much as individual. That first sunlight signals a calendar turning and the quiet relief of shared survival. Living at the edge of darkness offers a lesson for any society facing change. These towns teach that resilience is constructed through routines, shared rituals, and the deliberate design of environments that nurture health. In a world that increasingly confronts unpredictable seasons, the small innovations developed under polar skies point to how communities everywhere can survive — and even thrive — when daylight disappears, and hope persists across seasons and generations.
By syedabout a year ago in Fiction
Don't go in the Attic. AI-Generated.
Don't Go in the Attic Chapter One: The Sisters Glenda Brady was the kind of woman who wore diamonds to breakfast and tantrums to dinner. She had never been told “no” without retaliation. Her older sister Carmen, by contrast, preferred the quiet hum of soil and sun. While Glenda chased champagne and silk, Carmen nurtured tomatoes and silence.
By Cindy Gimnesabout a year ago in Fiction