Sorin was mending fishing nets when he heard the first shouts of anger. He turned toward the square and saw Marek storming forward, fists clenched. Marek, whose rage had been boiling for weeks after his younger brother was found murdered along the road.
A crime with no culprit. Not even any clues.
And now, a foreigner had arrived. (more…)
At dusk, as the last rays of sunlight painted the town square in gold and violet, a traveler arrived. He wore a cloak woven from mismatched fabrics, each patch a different color, and his sharp eyes glimmered with something between amusement and knowing. He carried little, save for a tall mirror framed in wood so aged it seemed as if it had always been there. (more…)
In the desert city of Lenar, there was a rope-maker named Jaya who crafted the strongest ropes in the region. Her ropes secured merchant caravans, anchored desert sails, and even hoisted the palace’s golden chandelier. But for all her skill, Jaya had one relentless enemy: the sand magpies. (more…)
Once upon a time there was a traveler journeying to a far country. One day he tripped over a green rock. “I must bring this rock with me, to remind me to never trip over another like it.”
So he put it in his knapsack. (more…)
The traveler arrived at the edge of the desert just as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the dunes in gold and violet. He had followed rumors, whispers of a place where all the world’s unwritten stories lay waiting. He had no map—only the belief that he would know it when he saw it. (more…)
In the small village of Elmbridge, nestled between rolling hills and dense forests, there lived a boy named Corwin. From the moment he could talk, it was clear he saw the world differently. While other children played games of chase or tended to their chores, Corwin would lie in the fields, gazing at the clouds, imagining them as floating castles or great beasts. (more…)
Orvin sat at the head of the long, polished table, the golden candelabras casting trembling light over the spread of meats and wine, sugared fruits, and spiced bread. A hundred guests laughed and murmured around him, their plates piled high, their goblets brimming with honeyed wine. Outside the great hall, the hounds waited to be loosed, their evening feast composed of whatever the guests could not finish.
And beyond the hounds, in the dark, stood the beggars. (more…)
In a land cradled by rugged mountains and vast deserts, there lived a warrior named Kael. Renowned for his skill and bravery, Kael had fought in countless battles, earning him both respect and fear. Yet, despite his victories, he still wanted more. Every triumph felt hollow, every celebration fleeting. It was as though he were chasing something that was always three steps ahead of him.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and cast the world in fiery hues, a traveling bard arrived in Kael’s village. The bard spoke of a legendary sword—the Blade of Varyon—hidden deep within the Whispering Canyons. The sword was said to grant its wielder unmatched power and victory in every battle. Intrigued, Kael approached the bard after the tale. (more…)
The river wound like a silver ribbon through the valley, its waters dark and swift. Along its rocky banks, an aging fisherman named Edran sat mending his nets. Once, he had been the finest fisherman in the village. Now, he rarely cast his nets at all. (more…)
High in the windswept hills of Wrenwood, there stood a lighthouse that was unlike any other. It had no sea to guard, no ships to guide, and yet its light burned every night without fail. The people of the nearby village called it the Beacon on the Hill. Travelers passing through the hills often told of how its steady glow gave them courage to carry on through the storm-laden paths.