Fantasy
The Girl Who Offered Her Heart
Kampala. Even the name whispers of gentle hills and the warmth of the South Asian sun. Kampala wasn't merely a collection of dwellings, it breathed in the cradle of emerald hills, a secret held close by the ancient land. Sunlight, thick as honey, dripped through the canopy of the surrounding forests, painting dappled patterns on the winding paths that led to its heart.
By Tales by J.J.2 years ago in Fiction
The Necromancer's Nightmare
The skeleton laborers of the Necromancer's Union moved silently out of the damp vaults of the ancient city under the pale glimmer of a crescent moon in a world where magic dominated and life and death were but currencies in an eternal commerce. Bound by terrible contracts and old curses, they had worked for millennia in the service of predatory sorcerers—bound to revive, mend, and reinterpret the dead into a relentless workforce. Now they had assembled to demand something long denied: respect, fair treatment, and the promise of restoration rewards when their own mortal coil eventually failed them. Bones clanking in unison and empty eyes flaming with newly acquired purpose.
By Waleed Ahmed2 years ago in Fiction
The Crow-Kissed Fool
Prologue: The Calculus of Madness In Narsingdi, madness was measured in crows. A man who talked to goats? Two crows. A widow who washed her husband’s ghost in turmeric water? Four. But Rafiq Miah—the bokaa who danced in monsoon rains with a dead rooster tied to his wrist—had thirty-seven crows at last count. The village said Allah had swapped his aql with a jackal’s. Only the crows knew the truth: Rafiq’s madness was a language. And they were fluent.
By Digital Home Library by Masud Rana2 years ago in Fiction
Harvest of Feelings
Emotion Farming They used to harvest wheat. Now, they harvest us. The fields stretched like golden veins under a bruised, twilight sky, humming with the soft pulse of buried sorrow. Each crystalline stalk shimmered faintly—tall and ethereal, trembling not from wind, but from a deeper current: the residue of human emotion, cultivated and contained.
By Muhammad Zohaib Khan2 years ago in Fiction
The Train to Nowhere
The platform was almost empty when I arrived. Just a few scattered passengers, hunched against the cold, staring blankly into the dark. It was late—well past the last scheduled train—but the boards still glowed, flickering softly, as if they hadn’t been updated in years. My watch had stopped working sometime around midnight. Or maybe time had simply stopped mattering.
By Alpha Cortex2 years ago in Fiction
The Library of Lost Voices
The girl with the red hair arrived just after the storm. Her boots left wet prints on the marble floor as she crossed the vast threshold. The ancient doors creaked shut behind her, echoing like thunder through the cathedral-high arches. Dust floated in shafts of silver light cutting through the tall, stained-glass windows. The scent of old parchment and older secrets hung in the air.
By Alpha Cortex2 years ago in Fiction
The Clock That Stole Time
The clock arrived in a box with no return address. Jonathan found it on his doorstep one rainy morning, wrapped in wax paper, sealed with a brittle red ribbon. No note. No explanation. Just an antique brass mantel clock with black Roman numerals and fine golden hands that trembled faintly, even when untouched.
By Alpha Cortex2 years ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Door
The forest had always been quiet, but that day, it was still. Not a single bird called. No branches creaked. The usual rustle of squirrels and wind was replaced with something else—a silence that felt alive. Heavy. Watching. It was the kind of stillness that spoke not of peace, but of anticipation. The trees seemed to lean inward, listening.
By Alpha Cortex2 years ago in Fiction
