Fantasy

The Ghostly garden
Every third night of every month, exactly at 10pm, an ethereal ghost, cloaked in spectral energy, floats through the desolate, fog-laden flower garden of the town of Galloway. By day the garden is an ordinary and pleasant place for the town's people to sit and read or just meditate...but by night...scattered amongst the ancient, moss-covered petals - remnants of a long forgotten civilization mysteriously appears from an obscure past life. With it comes a magical and eerie blend of dark fantasy, atmospheric realism and haunting landscapes.
By Antoni De'Leonabout 2 hours ago in Fiction
NOVUS - An Echo of Whispers
Just like the conduit, the entire ring of the harbor experienced substantially less artificial gravity than the main habitat of Farmore. Being just a seventh and a half of the radius, the generated gravity from the centrifugal spin is only at thirty percent. Convenient for transporting heavy goods and cargo within the bustling trade hub, but a serious trip hazard for anyone unfamiliar with the change in terminal velocity. William however, is well weathered to such changes.
By Blair J Allanabout 3 hours ago in Fiction
NOVUS - An Echo of Whispers
The atmosphere within the cabin is surprisingly still. Wvyman and his mercenaries stood rock steady as if it is just another regular day. Just another exercise that Wvyman would put them through on a routinely basis. Even Agna seemed to maintain a sense of ease as she cradles Tassy with both arms in an attempt to stop her from chewing an exposed strap draping down from a storage unit. But William found himself continuing to ponder, it didn’t make sense. Why are they here of all places? What do they want? Perhaps it was one of the refugees. Perhaps one of them is a prominent Union official that had managed to flee. “Wvyman. You said it’s the same forces that attacked Ceres, how many?”
By Blair J Allanabout 3 hours ago in Fiction
NOVUS - An Echo of Whispers
The forest was tranquil, it was always quiet and peaceful. William Qwey always prefers to spend every second afternoon exploring this secluded woodland. It was named the Vessian Forest in honor of his grandfather, Vessian Qwey. The man who had carried his family here from their distant ancestral homeland on the back of his success. It was fitting, as this forest was much further a reach from his home of Strathtown than any other. It was a further reach from any town, really. A perfect place to wander, a perfect place to escape the rambunctious noise of the modern world. There was only the faint ambience of a nearby stream trickling with the occasional chirping of birds from the canopy above.
By Blair J Allanabout 3 hours ago in Fiction
Whispers in the Fog: A Town That Never Sleeps
The town lay under a velvet fog that never fully lifted, its streets slick with damp and silence. Even the neon of the diner flickered with hesitation, as if unsure it should illuminate the night. The air carried a weight, a subtle hum that tugged at the edges of the mind—a whisper of things best left unspoken.
By Algiebaabout 5 hours ago in Fiction
Fandom
I. Usually, I’m not a morning person. I tend to exhaust myself during the day, and I need to get some sleep in the night in order to perform well the following day. That’s even more important when you’re a superhero like me. Your body not only uses more energy and power, especially in battles against evil, than those of mortal people, but it also requires more energy and power to sustain itself on a daily basis.
By David Perlmutterabout 6 hours ago in Fiction
The Skull Washed Ashore
The Skull Washed Ashore The tide was slow that morning, dragging itself across the shore with a heavy sound that seemed to settle into the bones rather than pass through the ears, and the sky hung low in a dull grey weight that made the whole stretch of beach feel closed in, as though the world had narrowed to that one place and refused to open beyond it. I had walked there many times before, enough to know every shift in the sand and every curve of the shoreline, yet that day something felt wrong in a way that could not be easily named, something quiet and watchful that seemed to exist just beyond the edge of thought.
By George’s Girl 2026 about 8 hours ago in Fiction
The Letterbox
"I'd like a fire pit." Annis dipped her face as she made her sole request of the innkeeper. Limp ringlets fell forward and veiled the faint hairs across her cheeks—get them shaved, you look like a man—but Annis caught the innkeeper's wrinkled nose and puckered face. Her paced and simple words, rehearsed at least three times before entering through the woven ropes over the doorway, had yet again failed to make her likable.
By Nagisa K.about 9 hours ago in Fiction
Closing Doors That Were Never Opened
Closing Doors That Were Never Opened She had a way of walking into places that were never hers, as if the world had been waiting for her all along. Doors did not need to be opened for her, she moved like they had already said yes. A smile in the right moment, a softness in her voice, and suddenly she was inside lives that had taken years to build.
By George’s Girl 2026 about 9 hours ago in Fiction
The Shop That Sold Second Chances
At the end of a narrow street where few people passed, there stood a small shop with no sign. Most people walked by without noticing it.
By Ibrahim about 11 hours ago in Fiction
The Map That Drew Itself
In a small, dusty shop hidden between two old buildings, there was a map that no one was allowed to touch. It hung on the far wall, framed in dark wood, its surface covered in faint, shifting خطوط that seemed to move when no one was looking directly at them.
By Ibrahim about 11 hours ago in Fiction
The Lighthouse at the Edge of Memory
At the farthest edge of the sea, where maps faded into blank space and sailors feared to sail, there stood an ancient lighthouse that no one claimed to have built.
By Ibrahim about 11 hours ago in Fiction