The rain painted silver trails down the windows of the quiet apartment, tapping a rhythm only the heartbroken could hear. It was late, the kind of late that blurred reality into dreams—except for Elia. She sat on the couch, still in her café uniform, holding a cup of untouched tea. Across from her stood Orion, the city’s silent guardian—known to her as nothing more than Kieran Vale, the man who de...

The floor was cold stone—damp, old, probably underground. Her arms were bound tightly behind her back, the coarse bite of rope digging into her skin. The gag in her mouth tasted of metal and filth, but her eyes… her eyes burned with calculation.

Rhea Calder didn’t panic.

She assessed. She listened. The faint dripping of water. The hum of a generator. The click of boots pacing on concrete. One capt...

In the twilight-shadowed realm of Eldrenn, stories were told of a game that could change fate itself. They called it _Wyrd_, the Game of Threads—a relic of the ancient world, crafted by the Fates and played only once every century. It was said that to win the game was to alter destiny; to lose was to forget who you ever were.

No one ever knew where the board would appear—only that it sought its ne...

I carry the weight of forgotten years,
Not in bags or boxes, but in quiet tears.
Faded laughter, like a song once sung,
Echoes in spaces where the heart is young.

The faces blur, the voices slip,
Time’s cruel hand a steady grip.
I reach for moments that slip like sand,
Falling through the fingers of an unseen hand.

Some nights, I taste the old regret,
A bitter pill I can’t forget.
The things I sho...

In the hushed stillness of the old house, the floorboard by the front door held its breath like an old man listening for footsteps long since gone. Worn smooth by generations of hurried boots and quiet slippers, it had learned to groan not in protest, but in memory. Each creak was a whisper of stories: a child sneaking out past bedtime, a soldier returning home on a rainy night, lovers tiptoeing t...

In a land divided by blood and banners, the kingdoms of Elaria and Viremont had waged war for generations. Their hatred was etched into every stone wall and sung in every lullaby—curses disguised as traditions. The river Velan, once a peaceful stream winding between the two nations, had turned red too many times to count.

But even rivers, no matter how bloodied, remember how to carry hope.

On oppo...