Fantasy

The Moon Thief
In the kingdom of Veloria, the moon was not a rock in the sky—it was a silver lantern, hung from the heavens by the gods themselves. It floated gently above the world, tethered by an unseen thread, glowing with soft, celestial light. The moon did not follow phases by orbit or science. Instead, it responded to the ruler of Veloria—their heart, their spirit, their joy and grief. When King Thalen laughed, the moon gleamed full and golden-white. When Queen Ysolde wept, it thinned into a solemn crescent.
By Kim Murrayabout a year ago in Fiction
The Night I Accidentally Summoned a Succubus… And Fell in Love
It started as a joke—that’s the part I keep coming back to. If I had known the old leather-bound book in my uncle’s attic was an actual grimoire and not just some weird Victorian erotica, I never would have read the Latin passage out loud. Especially not after three whiskeys.
By The Lost Books - "Libri Perditi"about a year ago in Fiction
Eid ul-Adha.
Chapter 1: Introduction to Eid ul-Adha Eid ul-Adha, also known as the "Festival of Sacrifice," is one of the two most important Islamic holidays celebrated by Muslims across the globe. The other is Eid ul-Fitr, which marks the end of Ramadan. Eid ul-Adha commemorates the profound act of obedience and devotion exhibited by the Prophet Ibrahim (Abraham) when he was willing to sacrifice his son as commanded by Allah (God).
By Krypton about a year ago in Fiction
Lion Skydives While the World Burns — Priorities, Anyone?. AI-Generated.
Because clearly, what the world really needed right now was a lion in a parachute. Yes, while inflation spikes, wars persist, climate warnings grow louder, and entire economies wobble on the brink — we’ve decided the most pressing topic of our time is whether or not a lion skydived. Let’s be honest: it’s not every day you get to see a jungle king gracefully plummet through the stratosphere with a GoPro strapped nearby. And if that doesn’t scream “human progress,” what does?
By EQCPAabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Lantern of Noor. AI-Generated.
In the quiet city of Noor—where the air once sang with stories and lanterns hung like stars—silence had become the new ruler. The streets that once danced with light were now soaked in shadows. People whispered that the city’s heart had gone cold ever since the Great Flame faded a hundred years ago. But no one remembered why.
By Muhammad Sohailabout a year ago in Fiction
Empty Chairs at the Kitchen Table
There were five chairs at the table, but only four of them were ever used now. The fifth one—the one closest to the window, where the morning light used to catch his laughter—remained untouched. A thin layer of dust had settled on its wooden slats, and no matter how many times she wiped it clean, it never felt right to sit there. Ethan’s chair. It had been two years since the accident. Two years of mornings where she still set out five plates out of habit, only to put one back when reality caught up with her. Two years of half-heard echoes—*"Pass the salt, Mom"*—vanishing before they fully formed. Her husband, Mark, pretended not to notice. He drank his coffee in silence, eyes fixed on the newspaper, as if avoiding the empty space would make it disappear. Their daughter, Lily, had stopped asking when her brother was coming home. But Claire? She still saw him everywhere. In the way the steam curled off a mug of hot chocolate—*his favorite*. In the way the wind chimes on the porch jingled at dusk—*just like his laugh*. In the way the house creaked at night, as if it, too, was waiting for footsteps that would never come. One evening, she found Lily sitting in Ethan’s chair, her small fingers tracing the scratches he’d left on the table years ago—a jagged line from when he’d tried to carve his initials with a butter knife. *"Mom,"* Lily whispered, *"does it hurt less yet?"* Claire opened her mouth to lie. But the words dissolved before they could take shape. Instead, she sank into the chair beside her daughter, gripping her coffee cup like an anchor, and stared at the empty space across from her. The truth was, grief wasn’t a storm you outran. It was the quiet, relentless tide that seeped into everything—the cracks in the walls, the silence between words, the untouched chair at the table where a boy should have been. And some days, the weight of that absence was the loudest thing in the room.
By Wiki Rjmabout a year ago in Fiction
The Town That Fell Asleep
In the heart of a forgotten valley—tucked away where GPS signals fade and no cell tower dares to reach—there lies a town called Somnera. From the outside, it looks like any other small town. Rows of timeworn red-brick houses line its narrow roads. A single church steeple watches over the town square. The air always seems to carry the scent of chimney smoke and pine. It’s quiet, unremarkable. Almost too quiet.
By Rieus Bradabout a year ago in Fiction
The Day I Chose Myself 💔
Anaya wasn’t looking for forever. She wasn’t the kind of girl who dreamed about big weddings or fairy-tale romances. All she ever wanted was something real. Honest love. Soft conversations. The kind of bond that felt like home.
By Elowen Ray about a year ago in Fiction
The Monkey and the Man
A long time ago, in a quiet village near a big forest, lived a friendly monkey named Kiki. Kiki was different from the other monkeys. While most monkeys stayed in the forest and were afraid of people, Kiki loved humans. He liked watching them talk, play, cook, and work. He found their world interesting and fun.
By Imran Khanabout a year ago in Fiction
"Dream Count."
Dream Count Every wish has a cost, and she’s keeping score. The stars whispered numbers in her sleep. Eris woke with them stitched behind her eyelids—1,845. They glowed faintly even as she blinked against the dark. In her hand, the Dream Count ledger pulsed, its spine warm as breath, its pages shifting softly like restless sighs. Each number in it told a story, a dream bought with hope, and bartered against time. And every one of them came with a cost.
By FAIZAN AFRIDIabout a year ago in Fiction
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo – Stieg Larsson
The snow fell silently over Stockholm, muting the sounds of the city and blanketing the streets in stillness. In a forgotten corner of Södermalm, a narrow alley led to a rusted apartment door, behind which lived a girl no one truly knew — and everyone underestimated.
By Jawad Khanabout a year ago in Fiction
Sunrise on the Reaping
Sunrise on the Reaping The sun rose blood-red over District 12, staining the cracked rooftops and coal-choked skies in hues too beautiful for a day like this.
By FAIZAN AFRIDIabout a year ago in Fiction