Fantasy

A standing salutation for Mission: Impossible in Cannes
On May 14, 2025- the Grand Theatre Lumiere of Cannes (France) has been an eye witness of an unforgettable incident. The gem of the Mission: Impossible franchise Tom cruise is getting a tribute of 5-minitue standing salutation in the Cannes Film Festival.
By Jubyda Zafarabout a year ago in Fiction
Amara’s Silent Love: A Tale of Pride, Pain, and Eternal Devotion
The Story: In the quiet town of Nilgiri, nestled beneath misty hills and framed by fields of blooming marigolds, lived a woman named Amara. She had once been spoken of with admiration—her poise, her wit, her beauty. But now, her name was whispered behind closed doors, wrapped in pity, curiosity, and sorrow.
By Kevin Hudsonabout a year ago in Fiction
A Cow Named Maya: A Tale of Love, Loss, and Letting Go
The Story: In the dusty village of Bhairampur, nestled between parched fields and whispering bamboo groves, lived an old farmer named Gafur with his only daughter, Amina.
By Kevin Hudsonabout a year ago in Fiction
How One Unexpected Change Forced Me to Grow
I used to believe I had life figured out. I had the steady job, the relationship that felt like it had a future, and a routine I could count on. I wasn’t wildly happy, but I was comfortable. Safe. I thought that meant I was doing something right.
By Ankit Sainiabout a year ago in Fiction
The Guardian of the Mist: A Fantasy Tale
In the heart of the Mistveil Mountains, where fog clung to the peaks like a lover’s embrace, stood the ancient Tower of Lyr. Its spire pierced the clouds, a relic of a forgotten age when sorcerers bound the stars to their will. The tower was said to house the Orb of Eternity, a crystal that could bend time itself. But none dared approach, for the Guardian of the Mist—a spectral dragon woven from moonlight and shadow—devoured all who trespassed.
By talecrafterabout a year ago in Fiction
The Lion & the Mouse
In the heart of the jungle, where the trees reached high and the rivers sang through the leaves, lived a lion named Baraka. His golden mane shimmered in the sunlight, and his roar echoed through the valleys. All the animals knew him as the King of the Jungle—strong, proud, and fearsome.
By Rohullahabout a year ago in Fiction
FULGORN
PROLOGUE The Canticle of Light -As told by the Triarch High Creed Before the first spark, there was only the Void—empty and still. Yet within that stillness stirred three primordial desires: to know, to be, and to shape. From this triad of desire, the Great Flame was born. Not fire, but Fulgoria—the first light. A sentient force that shattered the Void’s silence with her hunger to create. Fulgoria wept into the dark, and where her tears fell, three suns ignited—Solan, Velas, and Koreth. They swirled in celestial unity, their dance birthing Fulgorn itself. Into this world, Fulgoria breathed her three gifts: Omnipotence—the gift of shaping. From her boundless strength, she forged all life in Fulgorn and beyond. Then coded the laws of motion and mass, and granted dominion over the fabric of reality itself. Omniscience—the gift of knowing. From her infinite mind, she mapped the ley-lines of truth and embedded celestial blueprints into the veins of all life. She unveiled the symmetries of time, the dance of particles, and wrote the song of every atom. Omnipresence—the gift of being. From her eternal essence, she suffused the spaces between. She became the breath in lungs, the pull of gravity, and the hum of quantum fields unseen but unyielding. These gifts were then bestowed upon sentient beings forged from stellar ash and fractal thought. Fulgoria then divided them into three castes: The Traktators, architects of matter, whose minds bent metals and energies alike. To them, mountains were clay and metal became a servant. The Pallators, scholars of the cosmic ledger, who parsed the codes of creation and glimpsed into the edges of infinity. The Wisps, phantoms of the interstitial realms, who could split their forms into spectral echoes and slipped through dimensions like shadows. United as the Triarchs, they vowed to steward Fulgorn as living temples to Fulgoria’s design. But even perfection fractures; A fourth caste emerged—Imparen—flawed versions of the Triarchs. Born without Gifts. They became equations unsolved, vessels devoid of Fulgoria’s sacred charge. The Triarchs condemned them to serve as hands without will. They labored in the shadow of their betters, and were forbidden from touching the tools of their makers. Fulgoria, her creation complete, dissolved into the substrate of her creation. Her final decree echoed through the new world: “Let the Triarchs reign, until the stars rewrite my name.”
By E.K.Mwauraabout a year ago in Fiction
The Boy Who Borrowed the Moon
Chapter 1: A Boy Who Loved the Sky In a quiet village where stars painted the night sky like scattered diamonds, there lived a curious boy named Elian. He was unlike the other children, who ran through the fields and played with wooden toys. Elian preferred to lie on the soft grass and gaze at the moon.
By Rahman Hussainabout a year ago in Fiction
Champions of Punishment
The city of Varn was not built on justice—it was built on bones. Towering spires of black stone clawed the sky like fingers of a god long dead. The air reeked of smoke, blood, and quiet desperation. In the alleys, men in fine coats slit throats as easily as they signed trade contracts. The law was a myth. Mercy, a forgotten word.
By Rohullahabout a year ago in Fiction
Red Horse
The wind howled across the desolate plains, whipping dust into the air like the ghosts of the fallen rising from their shallow graves. In the distance, thunder rumbled—but there were no clouds in the sky. It was not a storm of weather that approached.
By Rohullahabout a year ago in Fiction
Echoes of the Brave
The wind whispered through the pines, stirring the mist that clung to the mountain’s edge. Seventeen-year-old Lira stood alone on the cliffside, staring into the vastness below. Somewhere in that silent, sweeping valley lay the answers she had come for—but more than that, a version of herself she hadn’t yet met.
By k zarmalabout a year ago in Fiction
The Noise in My Head
Chapter 1: The Invisible Weight There’s a kind of silence that isn’t quiet—it buzzes with the noise inside your head. For Maya, that silence was deafening. Every morning she stared at the mirror, seeing a version of herself she didn’t recognize anymore.
By Sarwar Zebabout a year ago in Fiction