Mystery
The Shadow That Followed Me Home. Content Warning.
It started on a Tuesday. I remember because Tuesdays are always the worst—too far from the weekend to be hopeful, too close to Monday to feel like progress. That night, I stayed late at the lab, working on reports no one would read and research no one would fund. The building emptied early, like it always did when the weather turned. The hallways had that sterile echo, that hum of something missing.
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 Last Message in a Bottle
The tide was low when Anna spotted the bottle. She almost missed it—half-submerged, caught between the rocks, glinting faintly in the last light of day. The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the horizon in hues of burnt orange and violet. She was walking along the shore as she did every evening, chasing the silence that only the sea could offer.
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
The Story of The Little Good Boy
The Unconventional goodness of the Jacob Blivens Once there was a good little boy by the name of Jacob Blivens. He always obeyed his parents, no matter how absurd and unreasonable their demands were; and he always learned his book, and never was late at Sabbath-school. He would not play hookey, even when his sober judgment told him it was the most profitable thing he could do. None of the other boys could ever make that boy out, he acted so strangely. He wouldn't lie, no matter how convenient it was. He just said it was wrong to lie, and that was sufficient for him. And he was so honest that he was simply ridiculous. The curious ways that Jacob had surpassed everything. He wouldn't play marble son Sunday, he wouldn't rob birds' nests, he wouldn't give hot pennies to organ-grinders ‘monkeys; he didn't seem to take any interest in any kind of rational amusement. So the other boys used to try to reason it out and come to an understanding of him, but they couldn't arrive at any satisfactory conclusion. As I said be-fore, they, could only figure out a sort of vague idea that he was“afflicted,”and so they took him under their protection, and never allowed any harm to come to him.
By Sarwar Zeb2 years ago in Fiction
The Tale of Ali Baba
Chapter 1: The Fortunes of Two Brothers In a bygone era, in a land where bustling marketplaces thrived and whispers of hidden treasures filled . The air lived two brothers named Cassim and Ali Baba. Though born of the same parents, their lives had diverged as dramatically as the winding paths of the ancient city they inhabited. Cassim, the elder, possessed a sharp mind for trade and an insatiable appetite for wealth. Through shrewd dealings and advantageous marriages, he had amassed a considerable fortune, his days spent amidst ledgers and the clinking of gold coins. His dwelling was a grand affair, adorned with intricate carvings and furnished with the finest carpets, reflecting his esteemed position in society.
By Sarwar Zeb2 years ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Forgotten Star
The wind on Aevalis had no sound. It rustled the silver grass and swept across the obsidian rocks, yet it carried only silence. It was as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting. Lira had grown up on Aevalis, born into a small colony that once thrived but had since faded into scattered outposts and abandoned tech. Her parents, star-mappers from the Core Worlds, had vanished in the Outer Veil when she was only six. She remembered the day they left, their ship silhouetted against the twin suns, her mother’s promise echoing in her ears: "We’re going to find the Forgotten Star, Lira. And when we do, we’ll come back for you." But they never did. Now seventeen, Lira wandered the edges of the known maps, chasing the faintest signals from deep space, searching for what others dismissed as a myth. The Forgotten Star—an ancient celestial body said to pulse with the memory of an extinct race. A star that whispered, if one dared to listen. Lira believed the whispers were real. She had heard them. It started on her thirteenth birthday, a soft hum beneath the static of her receiver. Not voices, not exactly—but patterns. Murmurs that shifted with emotion, not words. It was like the star was dreaming, and somehow, it had found her. Every year since, she had followed the signal deeper into the Wastes. It was there, in the Dusk Plateau, that she found the cave. Carved into the mountainside like a scar, the cave had walls inscribed with symbols that shimmered faintly under ultraviolet light. She recognized the markings from her parents’ journals—glyphs of the Varethari, a long-lost species believed to be starborn, their consciousness imprinted into the stars they once visited. And there, at the center of the cave, she saw it. A shard of crystal, levitating just inches above a black pedestal. Inside it swirled a miniature galaxy—millions of stars rotating slowly around a pulsing core. As she stepped closer, the whispers grew louder, clearer. “Lira,” the star said. Not in words, but in thought. She staggered back. This wasn’t some random hum or cosmic accident. It knew her name. It had waited for her. The shard flared, and visions burst into her mind. She saw her parents, alive, drifting in a place between stars. Their ship caught in a fold of space, unreachable from the known universe. But they weren’t alone—surrounding them were luminous beings, the remnants of the Varethari, their forms woven from energy and memory. They had found the Forgotten Star. And it had found them. The star was a living archive—a cosmic consciousness, absorbing the minds of the Varethari as they faded from reality. It had become a sanctuary for lost knowledge, a beacon to those who dared to listen. Her parents had become part of it. Tears streamed down Lira’s face, but they weren’t of sorrow. They were of understanding. The star had not just called her. It had chosen her. A voice emerged fully now, one voice from the many. Her mother’s. "We need you, Lira. Only you can bring our memories back to the worlds. Share what we’ve learned. Give the star a voice." The crystal floated toward her, stopping just before her heart. As she reached out, it dissolved into light, sinking into her skin like stardust. Pain flared—bright, beautiful, overwhelming. And then everything changed. Lira awoke days later, found by a rover crew from the Skyreach settlement. They said they’d tracked a strange energy pulse that spanned several systems. When they brought her back, her eyes glowed faintly, and her voice carried an echo of something… more. She spoke of the Forgotten Star. Of the Varethari. Of her parents. At first, no one believed her. Until the night the stars changed. A new light appeared in the sky—a beacon pulsing with rhythm, not random, but musical. It broadcast thoughts, emotions, knowledge in waves. People across Aevalis began dreaming of places they had never been, speaking words in languages never taught. Empathy bloomed across boundaries. Conflicts faded. Peace, real and strange, spread like wildfire. And at the center of it all stood Lira. The girl who listened. The girl who believed. They built a spire in her name, a place for dreamers and seekers. And every night, as the whispering star pulsed in the sky, people gathered to hear its song—an endless melody of memory and wonder, carried by the one who gave it voice. And so, in the silence between worlds, a secret was no longer waiting. It was finally heard. Moral of the Story: Sometimes, the answers the world needs lie in the quietest places—and those who choose to listen, even when no one else believes, can be the ones to bring light into the darkness. Never underestimate the power of belief, empathy, and a curious heart. Would you like this in a PDF or illustrated format?
By Muhammad Hamza2 years ago in Fiction
Guardians and Angels | Chapter Three (Part 12). Top Story - April 2025.
I knew everything about permanent marks on my life, or so I thought. My freckles, they’ve always stained my skin; wine splashes upon my image, spattered and sprayed across me since the day I saw my own arms and legs. I was a spotted animal of some sort, in my mind, a leopard. A marked creature who would be feared for its tattooed patterns. In reality, they were a scourge, or so I thought.
By Christopher Dubbs2 years ago in Fiction
Quest of the Lost Horizon
The Last Map The fire crackled low in the hearth as Professor Elandra Voss traced her fingers across the brittle parchment. The map before her was centuries old—its edges frayed, its ink faded by time. Most importantly, it showed something no other map did: an island far beyond the known seas, nestled in a corner where every modern cartographer simply wrote “Here be dragons.” Her heart pounded, not with fear, but with long-lost excitement. She had studied myths, chased legends, and endured ridicule from the academic elite. But this—this was her proof.
By Shah Jehan2 years ago in Fiction
