Fantasy
Dandelion
Persephone has risen once more from the underworld; spring has sprung forth from the arrival of their goddess. Seed has been sown, and it is time to stretch forth among the sea of green. Standing tall; stretching my head out as high as possible to reach the rays of the warm sun as they permeate the ground. Looking around to see her siblings as they too awake from the long months slumber in the ground, she smiles.
By Alina Anthonyabout a year ago in Fiction
The Curse of the Sphinx: The Secret of the Dark Caves. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
On a quiet moonlit night, the streets of Giza were almost empty except for a cool breeze that caressed the face of Sam, an archaeology student with a passion for myths. Little did he know that night would change his life forever. He usually visited the Pyramids at night to sketch and write his notes, but this time, something was different. Standing in front of the Sphinx, he glimpsed a strange light seeping from between its stone claws. It seemed like a flicker of light that faded and reappeared. Unable to resist his curiosity, Sam advanced cautiously. When he touched the rock with his hand, the ground shook beneath his feet and a dark gap opened, leading to an ancient crypt. He hesitated for a moment, but his inner voice whispered, "This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity." He leaped inside, finding himself in a narrow passageway covered in mysterious pharaonic inscriptions, depicting battles between kings and creatures he had never seen before. With each step, he heard the echo of his breathing mingling with distant sounds, like whispers emerging from deep within the stone. He turned on his small flashlight, and suddenly something moved in the darkness. Glowing red eyes appeared between the cracks, then quickly disappeared. His heart trembled, but he continued walking. A few minutes later, he reached a huge hall, centered on a broken obelisk, surrounded by four statues of ancient gods, all looking toward the center of the hall, where a massive stone sarcophagus lay. He approached slowly, but suddenly the passage behind him closed with a resounding clang, and the place was plunged into a heavy silence. Sam tried to open the sarcophagus, and as soon as he touched it, the inscriptions on the walls trembled and a mysterious light emanated from them. A dark spirit emerged from the darkness in a plume of black smoke, coiling around the hall and laughing with a frightening voice. He heard it say, "You have awakened the curse of the Sphinx... You will not leave here except in blood!" Sam recoiled, trying to retreat, but the ground split beneath his feet, and he fell into another, deeper crypt. He found himself in a corridor filled with skeletons, the remains of adventurers who had tried to reach the secret before him. Among the skulls, an ancient book covered in blood gleamed. He trembled and picked it up. On its cover was an inscription: "The Book of the Guardian." He opened the pages, revealing glowing words in ancient Egyptian. Suddenly, the ghost of a priest, dressed in white and wielding a golden staff, appeared before him. He said, "If you want to survive, you must confront the Guardian. Recite the spell when the time comes, or you will join those who came before you." Before he could ask anything, the priest disappeared. Then a terrifying voice echoed from the darkness, and the ground began to shake. From the end of the corridor emerged a massive creature: its body was a lion's, its head resembled a human's, but distorted, and its eyes glowed bloodshot. It was the Guardian of the Catacombs. Sam ran down the corridors, pursued by the creature with a deafening roar. Every wall he passed moved as if it wanted to crush him. He fell to the ground, the book falling beside him, and he remembered the priest's words. He quickly picked it up and began reading the incantation in a trembling voice: "O Guardian Spirit, return to your eternal sleep, and close the damned door..." As he read, the creature slowed down, but suddenly it leaped at him, nearly tearing him apart with its claws. At the last moment, Sam shouted at the top of his lungs and finished the last words. Powerful golden rays shot out from the book, enveloping the creature, and it let out a thunderous scream before fading into nothingness. Sam fell to the ground, exhausted, as the book closed by itself. He heard the priest's voice again, whispering, "You have passed the test, but beware... the catacombs are only opened to those chosen by the curse." Suddenly, the light returned, and the walls began to swirl around him. Then, as if nothing had happened, he found himself emerging from the gap beneath the Sphinx. Dawn was breaking, and the air was cold. Sam looked behind him, but there was no sign of the catacombs, only silent rock. He grabbed the book, but it vanished as if it had never existed. All that remained was a small inscription in the sand written in blood: "The game is not over yet."
By ✒️ Journey with the Pen ✒️about a year ago in Fiction
The Secret of the Black Library: The Cat Who Opened the Portal. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
In one of the old alleys of Cairo, there was a narrow street known only to a few people. On its side stood a small, unnoticed library called "The Black Library." It had no obvious door, just an old wooden archway with a faded, barely legible sign above it. On a dark winter night, Sami, a student at the Faculty of Arts, was walking home from his lecture. His gaze suddenly stumbled upon the library, as if an invisible force had drawn him toward it. He pushed open the wooden door, which creaked as if it were groaning in pain. Sami entered and saw high shelves stretching up to the ceiling, dust filling the space. There was no light except for a single candle in the corner, and next to it sat a black cat, staring at him with shining green eyes. He approached it fearfully, but the cat didn't run away. On the contrary, it raised its head and said in a calm voice, "You're late, Sami... The book is waiting for you." His blood froze. He took a step back, staring at her in disbelief, but he felt inside that what was happening was real. The cat pointed with its tail to a particular shelf, where a huge book covered in dust lay. He reached out with a trembling hand and pulled the book out with difficulty. As he opened its pages, a bright light emanated, filling the entire space. Sami felt the earth spin beneath him, and then he found himself standing in the middle of a massive pharaonic temple. The columns were towering, and the murals were filled with inscriptions depicting battles, gods, and secrets. But the temple wasn't deserted… Before it stood an old man wearing a white robe, his cane engraved with strange symbols. The man said in a booming voice, "Welcome, Sami… I am the priest Adoris, guardian of the pyramid of Khufu. Your presence here is no coincidence. The Black Library has chosen you to bear witness to a great secret." Sami didn't understand anything, but before he could ask, another burly man, dressed in simple pharaonic garb, appeared and said, "I am the priest Imhotep, guardian of the Karnak Temple. We are the four Guardians of the Secrets." As Sami looked around in astonishment, a dignified woman with a stern face appeared and said, "I am the priestess Khamahu, guardian of the Dendera Temple, and you are now part of an ancient covenant unknown to humans." Suddenly, he heard the meow of a black cat. He looked behind him and found that it had followed him into this world, but this time it wasn't just a cat. It gradually transformed into a mythical creature with the body of a cat and the head of a beautiful woman, and said in a melodious voice, "I am Bastet, the Protector. I have come to test your courage." Sami trembled as she heard her words, and she continued, "The books you see are not just papers... they are gateways to other worlds. Each of these Guardians protects a pharaonic secret hidden from the world for thousands of years. Today, you are part of the story." The walls began to shake, and a strange, storm-like sound rose. Uncle Farag shouted, "The curse of the kings is awakening! We must close the gate before evil escapes." Sami ran with the three guards and the cat until they reached an inner chamber filled with stone coffins. One of them was open, and thick black smoke was rising from within. Sami approached fearfully, but the cat nudged him forward and said, "Only you can. Read the spell from the book!" Sami opened the book, and the words glowed in his hands. He stammered as he read the cryptic sentences, but gradually, the smoke began to fade. Mystery reoccurred in the tomb, and the coffins slowly closed. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Uncle Hamdi approached and placed his hand on Sami's shoulder, saying, "You have proven yourself worthy of the secret. But remember, the world will never know anything about what you saw tonight. The Black Library will bring you back, but it will always wait for you." Suddenly, light flooded the room, and Sami felt a renewed sense of dizziness. He opened his eyes to find himself standing inside the library once again, the book closed on the table in front of him, and the black cat staring at him as if nothing had happened. The cat smiled and said calmly, "The night is over... but your journey hasn't begun yet."
By ✒️ Journey with the Pen ✒️about a year ago in Fiction
People and Cats: A Tale from the Shadows. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
In a small, quiet town, people live their daily lives in a repetitive routine. The streets are crowded in the morning, the cafes are full in the evening, and faces walk endlessly between work and home. But amidst this hustle and bustle, there was a mysterious being silently watching everyone: a black cat with shining golden eyes.
By ✒️ Journey with the Pen ✒️about a year ago in Fiction
The Echo of Courage. AI-Generated.
The village of Oakhaven nestled in a valley carved by the Whispering River, its existence a vibrant splash of color against the muted greens and greys of the surrounding mountains. It was famed not for its strategic location, for it had none, nor for its wealth, for it was meager, but for its weavers. And among them, Elara was a legend. Her loom, a sturdy oak frame passed down through generations, was a stage where threads of every hue danced into tapestries that spoke. They told tales of ancient heroes, of the river's whims, of the mountain’s enduring spirit, and of the everyday joys and sorrows of Oakhaven folk. Her work was the village’s collective memory, its vibrant voice.
By Mehrdad Rajabiabout a year ago in Fiction
The Most Popular Creatures of Slavic Folklore
Slavic folklore is one of the richest traditions of Europe, filled with witches, spirits, dragons, and magical beings. These creatures were more than stories told around the fire—they explained the mysteries of nature, taught moral lessons, and reflected the struggles of daily life in villages surrounded by forests, rivers, and endless fields.
By Ancient Spiritabout a year ago in Fiction
The Lantern in the River
M Mehran In the quiet town of Bellmere, where the river curled like a silver ribbon through the valley, people whispered about the Lantern. No one quite remembered how the tale began. Some said it was a fisherman’s trick of light, others swore it was the ghost of a woman waiting for someone who never came home. Whatever its origin, the story lived on: every August, when the moon was high and the nights grew cooler, a single lantern appeared, drifting down the river against the current. Mira, a young journalist for the Bellmere Chronicle, had always dismissed it as one of those stories people told to keep small towns feeling magical. But this year, when her editor demanded something “bigger than bake sales and council meetings,” she decided to chase the Lantern. On the first night of August, she stood by the riverbank, recorder in hand. The town was still, except for the hum of crickets and the gentle rush of water. She had almost given up when she saw it: a glow far downstream, bobbing gently, moving up the river as if the current were nothing but air. Her breath caught. It wasn’t a campfire, nor the reflection of a streetlamp. It was a lantern—wooden frame, glass sides, and a steady golden flame burning inside. Mira followed it. She walked along the bank, stumbling over roots, brushing through tall grass. The lantern moved slowly, waiting for her, until it reached a bend where the trees leaned close like old listeners. And then, without a sound, it vanished. The next morning, Mira’s article caused a stir. Neighbors dropped by the Chronicle’s office, eager to share their own encounters: a farmer who saw the Lantern from his porch in 1978, a teacher who claimed her grandmother followed it once and never came back. Mira listened, scribbling notes, half convinced and half skeptical. But what unsettled her most was the letter she found slipped under her apartment door that night. It was written on faded paper in a shaky hand: “The Lantern chooses. If it waits for you, follow it. It will show you what you most need to know.” No name, no return address. By the third night, curiosity gnawed at her more than fear. She returned to the river. Again, the Lantern appeared, glowing softly like a star within reach. Mira followed it further this time, across the wooden bridge and into the darker stretch of forest. The sound of water faded; all she could hear was her own heartbeat and the crackle of flame. At last, the Lantern stopped in a clearing where the river pooled like glass. It hovered for a moment, then sank slowly beneath the surface. The flame did not go out. Instead, the water lit up, shimmering with threads of light that formed an image: her mother’s face. Mira staggered back. Her mother had disappeared when she was six years old. The police said she’d drowned in the river during a storm, but no body was ever found. Now here she was, smiling gently, as though waiting. “Mira,” the image whispered—not with sound, but directly into her chest, like memory made real. “You are ready.” The light rippled, showing Mira a small wooden box, its lid carved with the same pattern as the lantern’s frame. She remembered it vaguely, tucked high on a shelf in her childhood home, always locked. The vision faded, and the clearing was once again only shadow and water. The Lantern was gone. Mira stood trembling, recorder useless at her side. For the first time, she believed. The next day she searched her late father’s attic, and there, under dusty blankets, she found the box. The lock snapped open easily, as if it had been waiting. Inside lay letters—dozens of them, written by her mother. They told a story Mira had never known: her mother came from a long line of “Lantern Keepers,” people bound to the river’s strange gift. Each year, one person was chosen to guide lost souls back to those who remembered them. The flame was not of fire, but of memory. Her mother’s final letter was dated the night she disappeared: “If the Lantern comes for me, I must follow. But one day, Mira, it will come for you. Do not fear it. The river remembers.” Mira wept quietly in the attic, clutching the pages that smelled faintly of cedar and river mist. She realized the Lantern had not shown her the past to haunt her, but to pass on the duty. That August, Bellmere buzzed with rumors of Mira’s investigation. Some thought she was fabricating stories for fame. Others, older and wiser, simply nodded and said, “The Lantern found her.” Mira never published the letters. Some truths, she decided, belonged to the town’s hush and mystery. But at night, when the river glowed faintly beneath the moon, she walked its banks with a lantern of her own, flame steady, waiting to guide those who still searched for home.
By Muhammad Mehranabout a year ago in Fiction
Wings of Fate: Elena’s Forbidden Encounter
Wings Over the Tower I was staring out of my bedroom window when I saw it. A horse. Not just any horse, but a radiant white stallion standing still on top of the old stone tower at the edge of the village. My breath caught in my throat. My heart slammed down into my stomach as if the ground beneath me had collapsed. Horses don’t climb towers. Horses don’t perch like statues on weathered stone. And yet, there it was—its mane shimmering like silver fire, its eyes glowing with a light that chilled me to the bone. Then I noticed the wings. Vast, powerful, angelic wings, stretched out against the night sky. My hands trembled as I fumbled for my phone. Without thinking, I snapped a picture and sent it to my mother, Margaret. “Look! I’m not imagining this. It’s real.” Her reply came within seconds, cold and dismissive: “Elena, you’re tired. You must be seeing things. Horses don’t stand on towers.” I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe her. But the horse didn’t vanish. It stood there, watching me. Not moving, not blinking—watching me. I texted again, fingers shaking. “Check the picture. Just look.” The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Then her answer dropped like a stone into my chest: “Dear God… how is that horse on the tower?” The moment I read her words, I knew I wasn’t hallucinating. Fear coiled around my lungs, tightening with every breath. The air in my room grew heavy, suffocating. I could barely breathe. Then another message appeared: “I’m coming home right now. Lock the door. Don’t let anyone in.” That was the moment I knew I was in real danger. The stallion’s eyes blazed brighter, as though it sensed my fear. My knees weakened, and yet I couldn’t tear my gaze away. Every second, I felt its presence press closer, even though it hadn’t moved. The wings shimmered as if ready to take flight, but instead, the beast stood perfectly still—focused only on me. I jumped when I heard the rattle of keys outside. My mother had arrived. I ran to the door, heart pounding so hard it echoed in my ears. Margaret stumbled inside, her face pale, her chest heaving. “Close the door, quickly!” she gasped. We slammed it shut, bolting the lock. For a moment, I thought we were safe. Until the window shattered. A weight crashed into the room. Shards of glass sprayed across the floor, glittering like ice. And through the wreckage stepped the stallion. Its enormous wings filled the space, brushing the ceiling and walls. The air smelled of rain and roses, sweet and terrifying. I screamed, clinging to my mother. And then—before my eyes—the horse began to change. The feathers burned away like smoke. Its legs stretched and shifted. Its face elongated, reshaped, transformed. Within moments, the stallion was gone, replaced by a man. Tall. Broad-shouldered. His hair black as midnight, falling messily across his brow. His eyes—those same burning eyes—pierced through me, their dark glow pulling me in like a tide. He smiled, slow and cold. His voice was low and steady, vibrating through my bones. “There is no need to fear, Elena. I came for you.” I froze, torn between terror and a strange pull deep in my chest. My mind screamed at me to run, but my body leaned toward him, as though I had always known this man. My mother stepped in front of me, her voice sharp with fury. “Stay away from her!” But he raised his hand, calm as death itself. “No one can keep me from her. She has belonged to me… long before she was even born.” The words crashed over me like thunder. Belonged to him? Before I was born? My heart thrashed wildly. My legs refused to move. His gaze locked mine, and it felt as if he was drawing the very breath from my lungs. Margaret clutched my hand and began reciting prayers, her voice trembling. But instead of retreating, he only smiled wider. “I have been with you in every nightmare,” he whispered. “I have guarded you in your sleep. I waited as you grew. And now I’ve come to claim what was always mine.” Tears burned my eyes. As horrifying as his words were, part of me… believed him. Part of me recognized him, as if from some forgotten dream. Mother screamed again, calling him cursed. But he only chuckled, the sound echoing like distant thunder. “Cursed to you, perhaps,” he said. “But to her… I am salvation.” He reached out his hand to me. And though my body shook, I nearly lifted my own to meet it. Then—light. A blinding beam of light shot through the window, slashing across the room. For an instant, wings unfolded from his back again, glowing brilliantly—then dissolved into black smoke. His face twisted with fury and sorrow all at once. He looked at me, his voice breaking like a vow. “No matter where you run, Elena. You are mine. You will return to me.” And with that—he vanished. Only the scent of roses remained. That night, I didn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. His wings. His burning gaze. His voice whispered in the dark, promising, calling. When sleep finally took me, I found myself in a world of endless fog. Cold seeped into my bones. My bare feet sank into frost. And from the mist, he came. Lucian. Wings wide, eyes black but glowing with a strange light—half terror, half comfort. His smile was softer this time, tinged with sorrow. “I missed you,” he said. My lips trembled. “Why do you keep appearing? Who are you?” He stepped closer, his touch brushing my cheek. My skin tingled, my heart stuttered. “I am no stranger. I was your knight. Your lover. Betrayed, murdered before your eyes. My soul bound to yours ever since. I waited for you to return, Elena. And now, the moment has come.” Images slammed into my mind—memories not my own. A white dress. His blood. My screams. His name on my lips as he fell. I gasped, clutching my chest. “It was real? I was there?” He nodded. “You were there. You were mine. And tonight, we are together again.” Behind me, faint and desperate, I heard my mother’s voice, as though carried from another universe. “Elena! Don’t leave me! Come back!” Tears streamed down my face. His hand reached out, his eyes pleading. My mother’s voice called, raw with fear. And still, I lifted my hand to his. The moment our fingers touched, light exploded around us. Wings burst from his back, wrapping me in a circle of brilliance. The ground fell away. We soared. Over oceans, over starlit skies. The wind roared in my ears. My fear melted into strange, blissful calm. For the first time in my life, I felt… home. He pulled me close, his own tears falling freely. “No force can part us now,” he whispered. I laid my head against his chest. And I smiled through my tears. From that night on… Elena was never seen again. But on nights of the full moon, villagers swore they saw a winged horse gliding above the sea, carrying a young woman in its embrace. Her laughter echoed over the waves. And beside her, the voice of a man answered with endless devotion. Together at last. Forever bound.
By محمد السبكيabout a year ago in Fiction
The Day Time Forgot My Name. AI-Generated.
I woke up yesterday, and the calendar betrayed me. The date was gone. My phone showed no numbers, only a blank void where time should have been. Even the clock on the wall stood still—its hands frozen between seconds like a heartbeat that refused to finish.
By Muhammed Ismailabout a year ago in Fiction
The Kindling of Night. AI-Generated.
Prologue: Shadows and Sparks Long before the Ember Realms and the Dominion of Shadows had ever met, the world existed in delicate balance. Fire ruled the south, fierce and untamed, a magic born of passion and impulse, illuminating life but capable of consuming it in moments. Shadow ruled the north, subtle and precise, a magic of patience and restraint, hiding truths and guarding secrets—but at times concealing threats as well.
By Ai.Pendrakeabout a year ago in Fiction
True Story Of Ahmed Al Hilasi
Startwriting--- The Story of Sheikh Abu Ahmad al-Hilasi (رحمه الله) A Lesson in Contentment and the Value of the Hereafter Among the remarkable accounts of the pious predecessors is the story of Sheikh Abu Ahmad al-Hilasi (رحمه الله), a man of humility and unwavering faith. His life was marked by poverty and hardship, yet his gaze remained fixed upon the eternal rewards of the Hereafter. The following incident from his life is a reminder of what it truly means to seek Allah’s pleasure above worldly gain. --- A Mother’s Concern Sheikh Abu Ahmad recalled: > “My mother was a very pious and righteous woman. We were extremely poor, living a life of great hardship and deprivation. One day my mother said to me, ‘My son, how long will we continue living like this? You should try to find some means of livelihood.’” Out of love for her son and concern for their condition, his mother encouraged him to seek provision. Although Abu Ahmad himself was content with their situation, he respected his mother’s wish and turned to Allah in prayer. --- The Supplication at Suhoor One morning, before dawn, he raised his hands and made a heartfelt du‘a: > “O Allah! If I have any share in the blessings of the Hereafter, then grant me some portion of it here in this world.” Immediately after this supplication, a miraculous sign appeared. A light shone in the corner of his room. When he approached, he discovered the leg of a throne, crafted from pure gold and adorned with precious jewels. He brought it to his mother, saying: > “Here, your wish has been fulfilled.” --- A Mother’s Dream of Paradise While Abu Ahmad was away, thinking about how to sell the throne’s leg, his mother fell asleep and saw a dream of Paradise. She narrated to her son upon his return: > “I found myself in a grand palace. On its gate was written: ‘La ilaha illallah Muhammadur Rasulullah.’ Alongside this blessed declaration, I read the words: ‘This palace belongs to Abu Ahmad al-Hilasi.’ > Inside, I saw many thrones. One of them, however, was missing a leg. I asked, ‘Why does this throne look incomplete?’ An angel replied, ‘The missing leg is the very one you yourself took in this world.’ I said, ‘Return it to its rightful place!’ Then I awoke—and the throne leg was gone.” This vision was a clear sign that the gift Abu Ahmad received in this world was part of his reward in the Hereafter. --- Lessons From the Story This incident carries profound lessons for all believers: 1. The Power of Du‘a – Abu Ahmad’s supplication was answered instantly, showing how Allah responds to the prayers of the righteous. 2. The Priority of the Hereafter – Though he had the chance for immense wealth, Allah reminded him that true treasures lie in Paradise, not in this temporary world. 3. The Role of Righteous Mothers – His mother’s piety and concern guided him, but her dream redirected him back to the eternal perspective. 4. Contentment With Hardship – Despite poverty, Abu Ahmad was content. He knew that trials in this world are a path to everlasting comfort in the next. --- Reflection for Us Today In our age of constant material pursuit, this story stands as a timeless reminder: Wealth and luxury are fleeting. Patience, faith, and contentment bring true richness. What we sacrifice for the sake of the Hereafter will never be lost—it will return to us in Paradise, more complete and beautiful than anything in this world. --- Conclusion Sheikh Abu Ahmad al-Hilasi (رحمه الله) was among those whose prayers were answered swiftly by Allah. Yet, he remained steadfast in choosing a life of simplicity and hardship, seeking instead the everlasting treasures of the Hereafter. His story urges us to examine our own hearts: Are we chasing what is temporary, or striving for what is eternal? ---
By Akhtar Nawazabout a year ago in Fiction
