Fantasy

The Strange Summer
This story is about me. Of course it is. I'm fabulous. My name is Thomas Finius Blakely. My buddies call me Tom. Most humans call me, affectionately, "That Darn Cat." I'm sure this endearment is thanks for controlling the rodent population.
By Julie Lacksonenabout a year ago in Fiction
After The Sunset The Stars As My Witness. Content Warning.
As for Danae, she had her knight in shining armour. In the city, as she ran errands she would feel eyes stripping her bare and snarky comments low enough for her to hear them, but no one dared to touch her because they feared Perseus, and that's what she feared if Perseus died during the quest she would have to be her own knight but she wasn't as big and tough as her son and she hated violence. She’d have to marry the king to be protected from the predators waiting to pounce on her, The King, though a predator in Danae’s eyes, she felt he was a better predator, at least she would be queen.
By Ropafadzo Thokozani Zinyuke (Fadzo) about a year ago in Fiction
I remember being a star
I remember the silence of space. Not the kind you think of, filled with darkness and void, but the kind that pulses with purpose. With gravity. With ancient rhythms and nuclear fire. I remember being a star. --- For eons, I watched. I hung suspended in the velvet dark, tethered by gravity and duty. I was one of billions,maybe trillions, glowing in the night sky above your Earth. You never knew me by name. Perhaps you called me Antares, or maybe nothing at all. Still, I watched you. Your oceans shimmered like starlight. Your winds whispered in patterns that made my plasma ache. And then, one night, I saw her. She stood in a meadow, arms outstretched to the sky, laughing beneath my glow like I was something more than heat. I wanted to understand that laugh. I wanted to be where she was. --- So I prayed. Not to matters or time, but to the Architect of motion, the Composer of stars. The god that created us all. “I am willing,” I whispered into the vacuum, “to die a thousand deaths if it means knowing what it is to feel.” And the Architect, in all His mercy, replied: > “Then fall.” --- I remember falling. It wasn’t fire. It wasn’t burning. It was unfolding .Like shedding eternity and squeezing into something impossibly small—a body. Bones. Breath. Blood. A name: Lucien. And suddenly, I was there. Earth. --- I was confused at first. Light had weight. Air stung my lungs. Time wasn’t fluid—it dragged. Hunger gnawed at me. Emotions—strange chemicals—I had no language for them. And yet… The first time I touched water, I wept. The first time I tasted bread, I laughed. The first time I held her hand, I forgot the stars. --- Her name was Eila. She was everything Earth distilled into one being: soft and strong, wild and kind. She taught me how to eat strawberries and lie on grass and chase clouds. She told me stories about god and ghosts, and I told her stories about fusion and nebulae. She called me “old soul.” I called her “my miracle.” She never knew I was once a star. She just thought I was strange and in love with everything. She wasn’t wrong. --- I never told her about the deal. That to become human was to die human. No resurrections. No solar rebirths. No nova, no echo. Just… Silence. I gave up eternity for a heartbeat of life. And I was happy. --- Years passed. I lived slowly. I wrote poems about raindrops. I painted sunrises. I married her. We danced barefoot on riversides and sang lullabies to children we never had. Every night, I looked up at the stars and whispered, “thank you.” Even when the cough started. Even when my legs failed. Even when the doctors used words like "terminal." --- On the last day, she carried me to the field where we first kissed. The grass was taller now, greener. The wind smelled of rain and lilacs. “I love you,” she whispered, lying beside me, her fingers intertwined with mine. And I—barely breath and bone—smiled. “Did you know,” I whispered, voice thin, “that before I was a man… I was light?” She laughed through her tears. “Of course you were.” “I loved you then, too,” I said. “Even before I knew what love was.” And then… I closed my eyes. --- Somewhere far away, a star went dark. But no one wept. Because on Earth, in the memory of one woman, and in the whisper of every leaf, and in the warmth of sunlight, he remained. --- Eila planted a tree where he died. She named it Lucien. She said it still glowed sometimes, when the wind was right and the sky was clear. And people came from all over to sit beneath its branches. To feel something they couldn't name. --- And if you listen closely, when the night is still and the stars blink gently above, you might hear him whisper: > “I remember being a star. > But oh—how I loved being human more.” --- End. ---
By E. hasanabout a year ago in Fiction
Starlight Debt
The signal arrived on a Tuesday. Juno was feeding her daughter breakfast when the message blinked into existence—just a soft tone on her tablet, like an email. Harmless. Innocuous. It only read: “The debt has come due. Prepare for retrieval.” —Orion Covenant Office, Station Eos Her blood went cold.
By E. hasanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Divine Pantheon of the World of Hurth
The Divine Pantheon of the World of Hurth The Divine Pantheon of the World of Hurth The world of Hurth is shaped not only by its people and lands but by the divine forces that guide, challenge, and inspire those who dwell within it. The gods of Hurth represent the many facets of existence, each wielding influence over their respective, sometimes overlapping, domains and watching over their followers with wisdom, fury, laughter, or cunning. Some shape destinies with a firm and guiding hand, while others revel in chaos, their influence unpredictable yet undeniable. Whether through grand temples adorned with sacred symbols, whispered prayers in tended fiends and hidden groves, or desperate cries upon the battlefield, the presence of the divine is inescapable.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
Elion - The Silent Collector
Elion - The Silent Collector Though its name suggested stillness, Port Silence was never truly quiet. The world continued as it always had, merchants locking their shops, sailors securing their vessels, revelers stumbling from taverns, their laughter carrying through the darkness. But beneath the hum of city life, unseen and unnoticed, a quieter force walked among them. Not a lord, not a warrior, not even a priest, but something far older, far greater.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
The War of Water and Fire and the Transformation of Heaven and Earth. AI-Generated.
Since Pangu created the world and N ü wa created humans, the order between heaven and earth was initially established, and the gods each performed their duties. However, the jealousy and dissatisfaction in the hearts of the Water God Gonggong grew stronger and stronger. He had long coveted the power of the Fire God Zhurong to control light and warmth, and finally couldn't hold back. He led his troops of shrimp and crab to launch a grand attack on the Fire God.
By empire datangabout a year ago in Fiction
Beneath The Flour. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
In the heart of a quiet town, nestled between the cobblestone streets and ivy-wrapped lamp posts, stood a small, fragrant bakery known for its warm meat pies and delicate chocolate tea cookies. The townsfolk adored the young woman who ran it—Elara, with her long dark hair, kind eyes, and a smile as sweet as her confections. She had a way of making people feel like home.
By V-Ink Storiesabout a year ago in Fiction
Where the Pines Lean
The view from Montcairne Hill is what folks write verses about. I know—I’ve written them. The kind of place where the sky wears its Sunday best and the wind behaves like it was taught manners by somebody’s grandmother. All the fields below look like quilts the Lord laid out for airing—patched in wheat, cotton, and the shimmer of cane.
By Taylor Wardabout a year ago in Fiction
The Shape the River Remembers
They say the Lord gives and takes in equal measure, but I have known Him to take things He never rightly gave me to begin with.
By Taylor Wardabout a year ago in Fiction
The Shelf
I started hoarding before I even knew what the word meant. Not in the messy, tragic way people talk about in documentaries, but something quieter. Softer. Just keeping things. Things that didn’t look like much to anyone else.
By Paper Lanternabout a year ago in Fiction
The Pirate King
The pirate ship bounded over the waves, the Jolly Rodger waving in the breeze. Out upon the deck, stepped the Pirate King and his motley crew froze in fear. Peg legged Pete stopped swabbing the deck, Fat Fred’s big belly shook in fright, one-eyed Sam’s hands trembled upon the wheel. The only one who was far enough away, Crazy Andy up in the crow’s nest, desperately looking for land. The Pirate King his feet spread wide, raised up his right hand, upon which was a gleaming sliver hook and he shouted, ”The island, where’s the island?”
By Rasma Raistersabout a year ago in Fiction