Fantasy
Dragon Corps. Content Warning.
Order to Report for Training The Greater Good, To Cory Joseph Aldren. Order No. 9526 GREETING: 998 You are hereby notified that, having been submitted to a local board composed of Overseers for the purpose of determining your eligibility for training and service in the Armed Forces of the United World Order, you have been selected for training and service in the Dragon Corps.
By Christine St. Martinabout a year ago in Fiction
Keepers of the Secrets: The Legend of the Egyptian Temples. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
In the silence of the night, when the world is deep asleep, some spirits remain awake, guarding what remains of the glory of the pharaohs. They are neither kings nor priests, but simple people who, over time, have transformed into guardians of legends. Am Farag – Guardian of the Pyramid of Khufu On the outskirts of the Giza Plateau, Am Farag has stood for forty years in his white robe and wooden cane. He tells visitors that the Pyramid of Khufu is not just a silent stone, but a beating heart that carries the breath of our ancestors. They say that Am Farag saw with his own eyes a ray of light emerging from the top of the pyramid on a full moon night. He didn't tell anyone, but he realized that his mission was not just to guard, but to protect the secrets hidden behind the stones of the pyramid. He could hear the whispers of the wind telling him: "Don't let thieves steal Egypt's memory." Am Hamdi – Guardian of the Karnak Temple Hundreds of kilometers away, Am Hamdi stands in the Karnak Temple in Luxor. A temple resembling an entire city, with its columns reaching up to the sky and its carvings depicting the struggle of the gods. Am Hamdi believes that these columns are not just rocks, but soldiers standing silently. Some nights, when the Nile breeze blows, he hears the drums echoing as if a royal procession is passing by. People laugh at his stories, but he knows that what he sees is not an illusion, but rather a summons to the spirit of civilization. He once vowed to remain at Karnak until his last breath, because it is "the gateway to heaven and earth." Am Salma – Guardian of the Temple of Dendera Am Salma, the guardian of the Temple of Dendera, is the most silent and mysterious of them all. He doesn't speak much, but those who sit with him under the Qena sky know that his heart is full of secrets. They say he saw the carvings moving on the temple walls and saw the stars shining in the eyes of the goddess Hathor. He wasn't afraid; he smiled as if he were talking to old friends. The strangest part of his story is that he sometimes disappears into the temple's halls for hours, then emerges with his eyes shining, as if he had returned from a journey to another time. The Egyptian Cat – The Guardian of the Temple of Philae But the strangest of all the guardians is the Egyptian cat on Philae Island in Aswan. No one knows where he came from, but he has inhabited the temple for years. He disappears in the morning and reappears at sunset to sit on a stone throne before visitors, looking like a crowned king. Residents say that the cat is no ordinary creature; rather, he is the embodiment of the spirit of the goddess Bastet. On moonlit nights, he jumps between the columns, his eyes shining in the darkness, as if an army of cats were guarding the island. The Great Story – When the Guardians Gathered One mysterious night, the four guardians met. It wasn't an ordinary human encounter, but a secret invitation from the depths of time. Uncle Farag, Uncle Hamdi, and Uncle Salma gathered at the Temple of Philae, and the Egyptian cat was waiting for them. They sat around a small fire, and the cat began to speak in a language no one had ever heard before, but which they all understood. He told them that there was a danger threatening Egypt's antiquities: a force seeking to erase history and sell stone as a commodity. He told them, "You are not just guardians... you are the last line in the book of civilization. If you fall, the world will turn the page on Egypt." From that night, they became four in one: Egypt's secret guardians. They meet every month in a different temple, sharing secrets and recounting what they have seen. And whenever anyone thinks civilization is dying, these men and the cat appear to remind people that Egypt is eternal. The End - An Endless Legend Some may think this is just a story, but anyone who visits the Pyramids or the temples of Luxor, Dendera, or Philae will feel as if there are eyes watching them and whispers accompanying them. Perhaps it is the eyes of Uncle Farag, the smile of Uncle Hamdi, the silence of Uncle Salma... or the gaze of the Egyptian cat that pierces the darkness. Thus, Egypt remains guarded, not only by armies, but also by the spirits of simple men and sacred animals that have become living legends.
By ✒️ Journey with the Pen ✒️about a year ago in Fiction
The Whispering Alley
M Mehran In the heart of Maplewood, a quiet town with cobblestone streets and flickering lamplights, there was an alley that everyone avoided. Locals called it “Whispering Alley,” not because of the wind or the rustling leaves, but because of the strange murmurs people claimed to hear when walking through it at night. Sophie Reynolds had grown up in Maplewood, and she had always been curious. While other children ran past the alley on their way home, she paused at its entrance, staring at the shadows dancing along the walls. Her grandmother had warned her countless times: “Some doors are meant to stay closed.” But Sophie had a way of following curiosity wherever it led. It was a rainy evening when she finally decided to step into the alley. The rain made the cobblestones slippery, and the air smelled of damp earth and old stone. She held her lantern high, illuminating the narrow path. At first, there was silence. Then, faintly, she heard it: a soft, almost musical whisper. “Hello?” Sophie called, her voice trembling. No answer. She continued forward. The whispers grew clearer, but still incomprehensible, as if speaking in a language she almost recognized but couldn’t understand. Halfway down the alley, Sophie noticed something strange. A small door, no taller than four feet, carved into the brick wall. It hadn’t been there before—or at least she didn’t remember it. The door was painted deep green, and a tiny brass knocker shaped like a crescent moon gleamed in the lantern light. Her heart pounded, but curiosity won over fear. Sophie lifted the knocker and tapped. The whispering stopped. For a moment, there was nothing but silence, broken only by the patter of rain. Then the door creaked open on its own. Inside was not darkness, as she expected, but a small room glowing with golden light. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books of every size and color. In the center, a table bore an assortment of quills, parchment, and inkpots. And standing behind it was a figure cloaked in a hooded robe, face hidden. “Welcome, Sophie,” the figure said. The voice was soft but carried a strange authority. “We’ve been waiting for you.” “I… who are you?” Sophie asked, stepping inside. “We are the Keepers of Stories,” the figure replied. “This alley is a gateway to the stories that never reach the world. Every whisper you hear is a tale seeking a listener, a story longing to be told.” Sophie glanced around, mesmerized by the stacks of books, some floating gently in the air, pages fluttering as if breathing. “Why me?” she whispered. “Because you listen,” the figure answered. “You hear what others ignore. You see what others overlook. The world needs storytellers like you, to carry these tales beyond the alley.” For what felt like hours, Sophie explored the room. She discovered stories of forgotten heroes, cities that floated in the clouds, creatures made entirely of light, and kingdoms hidden beneath oceans. Some stories were joyful, others sorrowful. Each had a unique rhythm, a heartbeat she could almost feel. The Keepers handed her a small, leather-bound notebook. “Take this,” they said. “Write what you see, what you hear. Let the stories live in the world.” Sophie nodded, feeling the weight of the responsibility. She understood that stories were not just entertainment—they were vessels of memory, emotion, and wisdom. Each tale she wrote could inspire, teach, or comfort someone she would never meet. When she stepped out of Whispering Alley, the rain had stopped, and the cobblestones glistened under the lamplights. The alley seemed ordinary again, silent and unassuming, as if nothing had happened. But Sophie knew better. Over the following months, she poured herself into writing. She shared the stories online, in newspapers, and at local readings. People were captivated by the vivid worlds, the characters who seemed to breathe off the page. Letters poured in from readers, thanking her for tales that moved them, gave them hope, or made them smile. Yet, the alley remained a secret between her and the Keepers. No one else could see the door, no matter how hard they tried. Sophie understood that some magic was meant to be discovered one person at a time. Years later, as she sat in her study surrounded by published books, Sophie realized that Whispering Alley had given her more than stories—it had given her purpose. She had become a guardian of voices, a bridge between the hidden tales of the world and the hearts of readers. And sometimes, when the night was quiet and the wind carried a faint melody, Sophie thought she could hear the alley whispering again. Not in fear, but in welcome, as if inviting her to continue the endless journey of listening, writing, and sharing the magic of stories. Because in Maplewood, and perhaps in the world beyond, stories never truly vanish—they wait. And for those brave enough to follow the whispers, a universe of wonder unfolds.
By Muhammad Mehranabout a year ago in Fiction
The Stranger on Willow Street
M Mehran Willow Street had always been the quietest corner of Brookfield. Lined with old oak trees and modest houses, it was the kind of street where neighbors waved at each other from their porches and children played hopscotch until the streetlights came on. Nothing unusual ever happened there—until the stranger arrived. It was a rainy Tuesday evening when the first sightings began. A tall man in a dark coat, carrying nothing but a small leather suitcase, walked slowly down Willow Street. He didn’t knock on doors or greet anyone. He simply stood for a few moments at the corner, looking at the houses as if searching for something, then vanished into the mist. By the next morning, the neighborhood was buzzing. Mrs. Henderson swore she saw him standing outside her garden gate at midnight. Mr. Taylor insisted the stranger paused at his mailbox, as if reading his name. No one knew where he came from, and no one had seen him leave. Children began daring each other to stay out after dark, hoping for a glimpse. Some said the man’s shoes made no sound on the wet pavement. Others claimed his suitcase glowed faintly, though no one could agree on the color. Detective Clara Reed, who lived nearby, heard the rumors during her morning jog. Though off duty, her instincts stirred. Brookfield wasn’t the kind of place where strangers wandered without reason. That evening, she parked near Willow Street and waited. At exactly 10 p.m., the man appeared. He was just as described—tall, broad-shouldered, face shadowed by his hat. Clara approached cautiously. “Evening,” she called out. “Can I help you?” The man turned. His eyes were gray, calm but unreadable. “I’m looking for someone,” he said softly. His voice carried an accent Clara couldn’t place. “Who?” she asked. He hesitated, then answered, “A boy. He would be grown now. His name is Samuel.” Clara frowned. There was no Samuel on Willow Street, at least none she knew of. Before she could ask more, the man tipped his hat politely, turned the corner, and was gone. The following day, Clara checked old town records. To her surprise, she found a Samuel Whitmore had once lived on Willow Street—nearly thirty years ago. The boy had vanished one summer evening while walking home from school. Despite searches and newspaper appeals, he was never found. The case had faded into cold files and fading memory. That night, Clara returned to Willow Street. The stranger was there again, standing beneath the lamppost. This time, she confronted him directly. “You knew Samuel Whitmore,” she said firmly. The man’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Yes. He was my son.” Clara felt a chill. “Your son disappeared decades ago. Why are you here now?” He opened the suitcase, revealing not clothes or belongings, but stacks of old newspaper clippings, faded photographs, and letters. “I never stopped searching,” he whispered. “Every town, every street that felt familiar. Something brought me here. A pull I cannot explain.” Clara studied him, torn between skepticism and sympathy. His story could be fantasy, grief, or something stranger. But there was no mistaking the sorrow in his eyes. For weeks, the man continued to appear on Willow Street. Some neighbors avoided him, others brought him food or coffee. Though no Samuel was found, the street began to change. Families grew kinder, checking in on each other more often. Children listened in awe to the tale of the missing boy. Then, one morning, the man was gone. His suitcase, however, remained at the base of the oak tree near the Whitmore house. Inside was only a single note: “The search is over. Thank you.” No one ever saw him again. Some claimed he finally found peace. Others whispered he had been a ghost all along, forever searching until the town itself gave him rest. As for Detective Clara Reed, she kept one of the photographs from the suitcase—a smiling boy with bright eyes, frozen in time. She pinned it above her desk as a reminder: even the quietest streets hold stories waiting to be uncovered.
By Muhammad Mehranabout a year ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Promise. AI-Generated.
In a cobbled corner of Eldergate, where the air always smelled faintly of brass and lavender, stood a tiny clock shop called Morrow & Ticks. It was tucked between a crumbling bookshop and a florist that only sold blue flowers. Most people passed it by without a second glance. But those who entered often left… changed.
By MUHAMMAD AIZAZabout a year ago in Fiction
Shadows on the Edge of Tomorrow
The train station was almost empty, except for a few scattered travelers dragging their suitcases across the cold concrete floor. The air smelled faintly of rain, and the giant clock above the platform ticked louder than usual, marking each second like a reminder that time was both a gift and a thief.
By Nadeem Shah about a year ago in Fiction
Behind the Locked Door — A Story of Secrets and Second Chances
The house had been empty for nearly three years when Ayaan returned. It stood at the edge of the small town like a shadow of its former self—paint peeling, shutters hanging loose, garden overgrown. To most people, it was just another abandoned property. But to Ayaan, it was home. Or at least, it had been once.
By Nadeem Shah about a year ago in Fiction
A Journey to the Spirit World. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
In the heart of the vast Egyptian desert, where the sand dunes turn golden as the sun sets, lies the tomb of the great pharaoh Amun-Ra, a ruler who never died like other humans. The ancients say that Amun-Ra possessed the ability to communicate with spirits, and that his death was not the end, but the beginning of a journey into another world, a world of spirits and shadows where mysterious beings roam freely, and the fate of every soul that enters that tomb is sealed. Ali, a young Egyptian with a passion for ancient antiquities, grew up hearing his grandmother's tales of the curse of the pharaohs. "Anyone who breaks into their tombs without permission... will disappear forever," she would warn, but Ali's heart was filled with curiosity, his soul seeking adventure and knowledge. One day, while flipping through an ancient archaeological book, he found a mysterious map pointing to the location of Amun-Ra's tomb, lost for thousands of years. The symbols on the map were strange and complex, but they radiated a strange feeling. He said something to himself: "This is my destiny." After a long journey under the scorching desert sun, Ali reached the sealed entrance, where huge stones were engraved with symbols warning any intruder. He began to dig carefully, and suddenly the stones moved slowly, as if recognizing who was entering them. A dark passageway opened before him, from which a faint golden light emanated, and the scent of ancient royal incense filled the space. Each step into the passageway was filled with mystery and fear. The walls were engraved with symbols that sometimes moved as if breathing, and statues of the pharaoh's gods followed him with glowing eyes. Strange sounds crept into his mind, and shadows moved swiftly between corners. He finally reached the chamber of King Amun-Ra, where he stood before a massive gilded coffin. The symbols on the coffin shone with a mysterious light, and upon touching it, he felt a powerful current pass through his body and heard a deep voice: "You have chosen to enter... Prepare to see what mortals cannot see." Suddenly, the coffin opened, and a bright light enveloped Ali. He found himself in another world, a world both dark and beautiful, where spirits move freely, colors change with emotions, and sounds pervade heaven and earth. There, Amun-Ra appeared before him, in his royal robes and mysterious face, and said: "You have crossed the border... You must choose: remain in the world of the living, or learn to become a mediator between worlds." Ali began his journey with Amun-Ra, learning how spirits move and how to communicate with the mysterious beings who guarded the tombs. Each lesson revealed to him that the pharaohs were not merely rulers of the earth, but guardians of order between life and death, between the different worlds. One night, as Ali wandered through the secret passages, he encountered an angry spirit, its body covered in shadows, its eyes as black as night. The spirit cried out in a frightening voice, "Who are you to transgress our borders?" Ali remembered the words of Amun-Ra: "Courage is not the absence of fear, but the confrontation of it." He spoke to the spirit: "I am here to learn, not to harm!" The spirit's features changed, and it suddenly bent down, becoming a light guarding the passageways, as if it had become his ally. As the days—or perhaps weeks—passed, Ali discovered that the cemetery was not just a burial place, but a gateway to the spirit world, where souls were tested, and each visitor's courage and intelligence were tested. Ali encountered ancient traps and complex puzzles: chambers filled with black wax that moved to devour anyone who made a mistake, giant spiders with eyes that glowed in the dark, and the voices of souls caught between life and death, screaming endlessly. One dark night, as Ali tried to decipher one of the small coffins, he heard a terrifying scream: "You have chosen the wrong path!" A giant ghost appeared before him, covered from head to toe in darkness. The ground began to shake, the passageways distorted around him, and shadows gathered to surround him. But Ali didn't run away. He remembered Amun-Ra's training and began reciting ancient spells he had learned from him. The small spirits around him moved to help him, and the ghost fled with a loud scream. Each experience taught him a new lesson, and each lesson brought him closer to Amun-Ra's secret. He faced puzzles, solved symbols, and bypassed traps until he reached the largest and deepest coffin. He heard the whispers of the spirits saying, "Are you ready to learn the truth?" Amun-Ra looked at him and said, "Knowing secrets comes at a price... Are you ready to pay it?" Ali smiled confidently. "I am ready." The coffin opened, and a powerful power filled the space. Ali felt the world of the living and the otherworldly connected within him. He was no longer just a young man passionate about antiquities; he was now the bearer of the secrets of the pharaohs, a mediator between worlds, and a protector of ancient knowledge. From that day on, he no longer feared the curse of the pharaohs. Rather, he came to know that the "curse" was nothing but a test for the brave... But every night, when the winds blow in the desert, he hears the whispers of spirits, as if Amun-Ra reminds him: "The other world is not for the curious, but only for the brave... And you must never forget, shadows never sleep."
By ✒️ Journey with the Pen ✒️about a year ago in Fiction
Yixin Yixuan
ZBrush Sculpt - See more on IG or Artstation; Links below In a world divided by conflict and silent defiance, Yixin Yixuan travels as a seeker of peace. After losing her parents to violence and growing up with a warrior couple in the mountains, she stands for resilience and gentle strength. Her journey takes her from loss to legend, as she finds friends and shows a fractured world that sometimes the greatest victories come without fighting.
By Neshzivne Dadirriabout a year ago in Fiction
Thrones of fire. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
In the era of the Pharaohs, the earth was divided between two great kingdoms: the North and the South. The king of the South, Amenhotep II, was a brave and wise young man, beloved by his people for his courage and justice, and all eyes turned to him, filled with both respect and fear. In the North, there was Queen Hatshepsut, a stunningly beautiful and incredibly intelligent woman with an ambition that knew no bounds: to unite the two kingdoms at any cost, even if it meant innocent blood and lives.
By ✒️ Journey with the Pen ✒️about a year ago in Fiction
