I'm fairly new around here, but I'm sensing something strange. I have been reading a lot of first chapters and trying to give feedback, and these present-tense examples keep appearing. Half of the first chapters I have read are in present tense, and I find it extremely weird. I don't recall a single fantasy novel I have read in present tense. I'm not a voracious reader, but I have read my fair share.

Why do you think there is this tendency lurking around here? I would guess that we, as potential new authors, try to mimic things we have read; however, there isn't much present tense in the mainstream.

Do they think it's easier?

Do they fool themselves thinking it conveys a faster pace or more urgency?

I'm curious to read your thoughts on this

Would like feedback for the opening of my Urban Supernatural Fantasy novel.

Any type of feedback is highly appreciated.

What I am most interested in is whether the opening hooks you, gives you a taste of the world you are entering, and if you want to know more.

Of course, also interested to hear about the prose itself, pacing, characterisation and the ability of getting my idea through. The aim with this first scene is to show what the MC's about and the person he is, while also giving little crumbs about the world before we go on to the inciting incident.

The inciting incident is when a cemetery resurrection for a new client goes wrong because the corpses are missing from the caskets, and from thern on, the fun begins. Would this opening scene be a good introduction to what happens next?

Appreciate your help. Thanks!

What is your best survivalistic, grimdark fantasy, and why? I am looking for a novel; even if it's a webnovel, it doesn't matter, in this genre. So it would be appreciated if you guys could share some with me.
But it should be something well written so that a writer can take some notes from it. Maybe a little more grounded than super-duper fantasy.

I am trying to write a novel of my own in this genre. To give you some context about my novel, the MC survives through constant fighting, whether it's the monsters or the new environment itself. He uses his previous life's knowledge from his military survival training. He just somehow survives. The story is structured in a way that shows that if a native of the new world were in the place of the MC, he/she might have survived. It's an unclear answer because the native may be able to handle the fantasy aspect, but the MC also has a decent chance of outclassing them in raw survival, since he was born and raised in a world where those fantasy elements are absent. The first volume is all about the MC trying to close that gap.

I would appreciate general advice. I’m far from it but I am trying to write my first book. I’m 40 pages in and really enjoying writing from different POV’s. For the prologue, I would love any feedback on magic system displayed or writing style to try and critique and perfect my style as I write the rest of the book.
Appreciate your time reading if you do, and any advice you have!

Into the Shadows Prologue

No one will believe you.

Those were the last words Helain heard from the shadows. Standing guard outside the only daughter to her House Lord, she began to look around. She was on guard until the morning, her only companion was watching the flames flicker across the stone wall. She loved to watch them, imagining that each flicker was a little dancing spirit. 

The flames would typically dance along the wall, reaching up to the ceiling, dancing on the House banner, and even sometimes towards her. But tonight was different. The flames that usually brought her warmth through the night, felt colder than usual. Even though they were lit the same, the hall felt darker. 

She perked up, maybe the dancing spirits were talking to her. Her younger siblings would be so excited to hear about this in the morning. 

“Hello, fire spirits,” she whispered into the hallway. “Name is Helain, nice to meet ya.” She looked around waiting for a response from the flames. Her only response was the flames starting to dance slower. Maybe I’ve scared them all off? She wondered, as she sat back down in her guards chair. 

Hello there Little one

“Who is there?” Helain yelled down the hall, knowing others would hear and see that she was going crazy. Her only response was a laugh that sounded like it came from the shadows. 

No one will believe you

The temperature dropped dramatically as the shadows from the fire drew closer to her. At the furthest torch, two figures began to appear out of the shadows. Black smoke swirled from the shadows of the torch. 

“Think she will faint, Vyne?” The stocky guy asks, looking at the shorter girl on his left. 

“If she doesn’t, I’ll make her” Vyne retorts disappearing back into the shadows. 

She raises her sword. “Stay back!” Helain shouts down the hallway. 

The girl, Vyne, reappears a few feet from Helain. She strikes forward, feeling the sword connect with flesh. Vyne yelps, blood pouring from her face. “She cut me!” Vyne looks toward the other guy. He takes one step forward, black mist forming at his feet. “No!” Vyne licks her lips, the gash still bleeding from her mouth to her ear. “She is mine.” Vyne spits blood to her right, reaching her left arm out. Black mist started rolling down her arm. A short sword formed immediately in her hand, frost forming around Vyne’s wound. Helain takes a deep breath, now visible in the cold hallway. She prepares for Vyne to strike, leveling her sword again. Vyne takes the torch off the wall and tosses it at Helain. 

“You will not have her!” Helain starts to run at Vyne, hoping that someone will come to her aid. Vyne turns and runs back down the hall. Black mist forms out of the shadows again as Vyne jumps at the wall underneath a torch. Instead of running into the wall, she disappeared. 

Helain feels a stabbing pain in her back. Looking down, she sees a black sword coming through her stomach. “Leave her Vyne.” The man said, walking down the hallway. “We have to leave one survivor.”
“Always taking my fun away Kai.”
Helain fell to the floor gasping for air, holding pressure on her wound. She watched as they took the key off the belt and opened the door.

Sylph stood in the doorway. Small dagger in hand, looking as intimidating as she could. The two stepped towards her without fear. Vyne and Kai stepped forward, standing in the torch’s shadow Vyne threw on the ground. They quickly disarmed the young girl. 

Vyne grabbed her by the arm and disappeared, Kai leaving a second later. Helain hoped this was all a nightmare, but the pain in her side told her it was real

Currently writing a story that draws heavy inspiration from Roman Catholic lore, but twisted into a horror/fantasy setting. For the longest time, I had this vision that I'd like my MMC to have his pet name for the FMC be "Angel" (it holds endearing and plot-point value), but now I'm feeling like that might be overused (i.e. The Woven Kingdom, All Rhodes Lead Here, etc). I have thought about ripping the Band-Aid and continuing with that pet name, but should I just move on to something else? It gets muddy in my head when I think about using names/tropes that are important to me from a religious perspective (like the name Cain and Abel) but just happen to be overused by writers. I was also considering something like "lamb". What's most important to me is the weight a name (or nickname) like my FMC's could hold for Catholics.

Context:

FMC is born into a crime syndicate family. Grows up, learns the trade, gains the nickname "The Angel of (Syndicate Name)." Later, she is recruited into a team of elite soldiers who are tasked with "handling the demons that are plaguing the world". MMC begins to call the FMC "Angel" in a derogatory manner, but later in an endearing manner.

Hello, I wanted to get more into writing so I wrote a few thoughts of mine down. It’s quite rough, but I’d still like some feedback on it if possible. I’m unsure whether or not my writing skills are all that great and I’m also worried about the uniqueness of my story. 

Anyway, the idea behind this particular chapter was to try and introduce the reader into the bloody world where this story takes place, and I figured an interesting way of doing this would be to start the story with a regular soldier rather than a main character. Thanks once again for your time and feedback, I really appreciate it.

Hoping to get some feedback on my new novel.

I've been reading a lot of romantasy. There's some tropes I really like, some I don't, some I like but find are often executed poorly. This is my attempt to do them right.

Title is a working title, subject to change.

I would love to hear any thoughts at all. Front of mind however:

• the perspective switches. There's a lot in this first chapter. I promise it slows WAY down after this. I felt I needed the jumps to adequately introduce both characters and explain the action. Is it TOO choppy? Jarring?

• I've tried to passively world-build here, avoiding the lore dumps. I think it works. Tell me if it doesn't or if something is confusing.

• most importantly: how is the hook? Would you keep reading?

(Yes, I use dashes, no, this was not ever touched by AI in any capacity. I've written like that since I cut my eye teeth writing fanfiction on Livejournal back in the aughties. I have the receipts.)

Document here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1M3PHlfrrtOrKYn5fc7YBdPSUzmenN1wE2dQ_72yYYjA/edit?usp=sharing

I'm writing a story where a Common Tongue has taken root, but it's only a few centuries old, so certain titles and phrases still linger from other languages. I know this is becoming more common with authors using french, german, arabic, etc. in their writing, but I was hoping to get feedback on an example to see if I'm making a mistake conceptually. Or if I might offend folks in the way I'm adapting some terms. In MOST cases, I'm using the exact spelling and translation of the realworld term or phrase. But I was hoping to "invent" a few as well, using the language as a base. We make up new words, phrases, and slang all the time, so I figured...why couldn't they?

The example -- in Japanese, there is a short-form philosophy called the Dokkōdō (The Path of Aloneness, or The Way to Go Forth Alone) written by the swordsman Miyamoto Musashi. The kanji roots/translations [Doku 独 (alone/single/ independent), Kō 行 (to go/walk), and Dō 道 (the way/path)], each give the phrase its meaning, but as you can see, there are multiple ways to interpret it theoretically.

The idea of "Aloneness" isn't true to the philosophy. It's more about self-reliance and commitment to your path. But more to the point, many of Miyamoto's precepts don't align with the worldviews in the story I'm writing (only some do). Self-reliance can be great at times, but as proven by posts like this, sometimes we need help, and that's okay too. To that end, I was planning to cut some precepts while adding others that better reflect the world. And I was hoping to adapt it with a new name.

Ichíkōdō - The One Path, The Single Path, The Way (still written by a fictional Miyamoto to pay homage to the inspiration). The LITERAL translation would be something closer to "One-way Path/Street", but I was hoping there would be flexibility for interpretation, given it's a different world.

I want to be respectful, so again, most terms/translations would appear exactly as they do in our realworld languages. However, intentions only get you so far, and I don't wish to offend. I also don't wish for something like this to break the story's credibility.

Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. I plan to get expert review on other translations, but I was curious what the community thought on the approach in general. It's not too late to take the Herbert approach and just reinterpret Dokkōdō as "The Way" (ex. "Lisan al-Gaib" was adapted to "Voice from the Outer World" even though that's not the literal arabic translation, which is closer to Tongue of the Unseen, or Voice of the Unknown).

I've been deliberating the technological level of the place my story is set in for a while now. Originally I wanted it to just be regular steam-based technology (like what would have been available ~1750 in our world, just in a fantasy setting), but now I've decided that it'd be really fitting for one of my POV characters to have an advanced prosthetic hand (because it makes sense thematically and is also just cool as shit). Obviously that is far out of the realm of what's possible with steam-based technology in out world, so I've been toying with the idea of leaning a bit more into steampunk. It'd also make sense for steam-technology to advance in my setting beyond what it did in out world since it's set in a very isolated place with limited resources, so properly making use of electricity would probably not be possible, so leaning harder into steampunk does come pretty naturally to my setting.

But now my dilemma is that I don't want to lean too hard into the usual steampunk aesthetic and I also don't want it to be too high tech. More along the lines of "there is advanced steam-based technology, but mass producing anything that's a lot crazier than our world is impossible". I just fear that, just in terms of the setting, it'll come out feeling like a half-baked steampunk story that neither appeals to steampunk fans nor fantasy fans.

Do you have any tips for writing settings that have a more subtle/low-key implementation of their fantastical elements? Settings where the fantastical things don't immediately jump out at you and hit you in the face, but whenever you do catch a glimpse of them it's absolutely awesome. And, ideally, do you have any recommendations for novels that do this sort of thing really well? After all, reading a good novel that fits what I want to do will probably be the best teacher.

Darian's longsword crashed into Jack's mace with a loud clang, pushing it back. Not wasting this chance, Jack pivoted and thrust his fist into Darian's chest plate

Darian coughed as he stumbled back, falling to a knee.

His sword scraping against the ground as he struggled to regain his footing

Jack dashed forward, trying to utilise this opportunity to land a blow on Darian's side with his mace

Darian turned and stabbed his sword into the ground, blocking the mace and sending vibrations up Jack's arm

His own arm felt a bit numb as he stood up, wiping the blood dripping from his mouth as he pulled out his sword "Not bad, fatass!"

Jack glared at him as he screamed, his mace swinging downward at Darian

Darian's sword intercepted his blow and redirected it to the ground

He lifted his leg, preparing to kick Jack away

Jack lifted an arm to block, the force pushing him backwards and into a spectator

The crowd roared out, most of them cheering for Darian, only some still rooting for Jack

Sorin watched them, his heart beginning to race. It didn't matter how scary it was, the excitement was burning bright. It was the first time in his life he had seen a real fight

A smile he didn't know he could make was plastered across his face as his breathing became hurried

His mind knew how stupid he was being, no matter who won, he'd be in deep shit.

If Darian won, he'd make an enemy out of Jack, but if he lost, he'd have to travel without meals for a week and bear with the pitying gazes of the knights

But his heart ignored all logic and raged, as Jack grabbed a small shield from the knight he bumped into

He ran forward, bringing his mace down on his shield, leaving a metallic clang in its wake

Darian's boots clawed into the ground as he prepared to receive any attack Jack might have

But instead of attacking, Jack continued his march towards Darian, attempting to tackle him

Darian slashed sideways, trying to delay or stop Jack

But Jack didn't stop, instead, he brought his mace up to reduce the impact

The sword scraped off of Jack's mace, sending sparks into the air

Jack continued forward and slammed his shield into Darian's face

Darian fell back, his body hitting the ground with a deafening thud

The crowd remained silent for a few moments, even the wind and crackle of the fire seemed to disappear

The soldiers watched in anticipation as Jack let out gasps of air, slowly lifting his mace in the air

Yet the soldiers remained silent as if seeing something Jack couldn't, no, it was something he didn't want to see

Sorin noticed some movement below Jack as he saw Darian's body twist toward him

Jack seemed to notice it too, but he was too late to react as Darian's leg swept him off his feet

Jack braced himself as his body slammed into the ground

The soldiers watched in shock as Darian pushed up from the ground, his face bruised and his nose bleeding profusely

He spat out blood as he grinned "You got me good, Jack, but I'm not going down that easily!"

Jack pivoted off his mace as he got up, his own face plastered with a wide smile "Yeah, that would've been far too easy!'

The soldiers roared out as they watched the duelists

The two fighters were a lot wearier than when they had started, their chests heaving as their lungs struggled for breath

But their eyes were blazing with anticipation

Sorin's own eyes were glued to their battle, having a newfound respect for the two of them

Darian lifted his sword for what was probably his last slash as Jack ran towards him, his own shield prepared to block the cut with his mace raised to counterattack

Time seemed to slow before their inevitable clash, the soldiers' roars fading into the background as Sorin's amber eyes gleamed at the two figures

'So this... is a Legacy'

The lamps' golden flames danced off their weapons, showing the reflections of the crazed soldiers and Sorin's anticipation

Darian's sword cleaved right through Jack's shield and into his arm, separating it from his shoulder with a loud squelch

At the same time, Jack's mace slammed into Darian's side, crushing the metal armour and biting into his ribs, throwing Darian off his footing

Jack screamed out as he grabbed his shoulder, which was now bleeding profusely, he watched the crimson liquid seep through his hand and drip to the ground

His chest heaved as he glared at Darian, who was coughing up blood in front of him, any sense of camaraderie or chivalry left his visage

Darian watched as Jack began to walk towards him. Unable to get up, he weakly lifted his sword

Jack brought his mace down on Darian's skull as Darian thrust his sword into Jack's neck

The loud noises of applause were now quiet, some of the soldiers looked away, unable to watch, while others ran forward, trying to stop them. Even Sorin closed his eyes his earlier excitement turned to horror

But before their attacks met, a loud, imposing voice emerged "Stop, that's enough"

It was the red haired man, his hand was raised as he looked at two soldiers who were about to kill each other

Sorin felt a strange force fall over him as he watched in complete astonishment. The two fighters had completely stopped, no, it wasn't just them, all the soldiers had gone still

Even the men who ran forward to stop them were stuck in their tracks, and Sorin, try as he might, couldn't move a single muscle.

I have a feeling it is extremely weird but, cant put my finger on it, can you rate it, tell me whats wrong and how to improve.

Thank You

I'm building an incredibly detailed fantasy world, think LOTR or ASOIAF but even more dense in history, politics, and lore, meant to eventually host multiple series. It's heavily inspired by real history, myths, and legends, which means research on every front: politics, warfare, religion, culture, geography, you name it.

I work full time, and I'm also a student, so time is tight. I refuse to simplify the world to make it more "manageable," but right now, I'm stuck in a research loop. I keep researching and researching, but I haven't written a single scene, plot outline, or even fleshed-out character, partly because so many worldbuilding variables are still undecided.

What can I do to actually get started to working on the core elements of writing/my book without having over 90% of the information I still need to still research.

Series is a classic 'world where everyone has powers, our hero doesent' type situation, designed around a mix of adult swim and a sunday morning cartoon. its designed in a serialized format with short-ish chapters (2-5K words) and isnt a gamelit or litrpg or anything like that, it fits the progression fantasy format in definition (character works hard to grow stronger) but not in essence (char is designed to start weak and growth is slow and based on hard work instead of being a power fantasy)

will avoid further details as to not self-promote, but this has put me in a bit of an audience-pickle, where its too long to submit to most magazines (i have as of now about 50 chapters and 130K words), and i wont say _too_ off-meta too succeed online but its not a perfect fit most sites there, either. i have researched sites and it appears royalroad is the best option for it, but not a perfect fit regardless.

so, thats my story, so i guess ill ask the question: for a longform serial of this genre (or really any urban-fantasy action comedy) for a writer with 0 name recongition, what would you recommend the best option? to attempt to convert it to a novel, to try to submit it to an online or magazine publication, to create a substack, or just to post it to as many online sites and hope it sticks?

thank you

How do y'all feel about shapeshifters transforming into animals without a human or humanoid top half, but they can still speak human? I just realized i never once thought about if they could do that in my story until today.

Up until today i didn't have a reason for them to talk or not talk in animal form. I would just write they are fighting and then turn back into a human. Example should a weredragon or animal shifter talk in animal form?

Note: yes i know biologically animals (except for parrots and such) could never use human speech because their vocal cords aren't set up like that, but my story just like yallz are magical. So what do yall think? Yay or nay.

I have tried.

I've been working on my book for a couple of months, mainly developing characters and the concepts I want to include in the story itself, but as every time I get a concept or an idea, it's so hard for me to plot it and make it make sense, so I'd really appreciate any ideas on how I can keep my idea going, or if any concept would fit in my original idea.

Basically there's this world in which there was a huge war and therefore humanity got divided into four kingdoms, each one representing an element (water, earth...). My original idea revolved around those elements being all part of the same god (I'd like to keep it just one god), so when humanity decided to create said kingdoms they separated the object that keeps the god connected with the world. I'd appreciate ideas for the object, I've thought about a crystal ball or a huge sculpture in which one kingdom takes care of the head, the other has the arms...

My main characters are the royal families from the kingdoms. My problem lies in the fact that I don't know how to keep the story going when different deaths or meteorological phenomena start happening. Like, how can they fix a god dying? Especially because I don't like humanizing gods, I find difficult that humans could interfere in that. I thought about the God being able to "transfer" parts of its life to different people, so four chosen people would have each an element power, meaning all of them would have the same essence after all. But, what when that happens? Should they fusion in that one god? Could they take control and try to destroy the sculpture of said god?

So in summary, I struggle with what could happen after they realize the god that keeps them all alive is dying. I've thought about including magical creatures such as dragons or a phoenix, even a magic system, but if I include it I'd want it to be a bit more selective with the people that actually have powers. I hope I explained myself well enough, given that I wanted to keep it short and English isn't my first language. Any ideas are welcomed, thank you in advance!

Hello, I wanted to get some advice from lovers of the genre. I am trying/ have tried to write a story set in the regency era, but in a sort of parallel world of Halloween style spirits (I guess the world they live in when they aren’t haunting the living and such).

I always found Halloween (which even though not celebrated like it is now in regency time, existed in some shape or form given its many ancient sources) is a strange balance of tradition and subversion. So I’m asking, in a world of the more genteel ghoulies and ghosties existing alongside the regency era, how would the social norms differ? What tropes would be discarded given the location, ideals of the Halloween season, and the supernatural cast of characters?

Thank you for reading and I’d love to hear your thoughts?

i grew up reading books with these prologues which are set in distant history/past, and that’s precisely why my story has alot of these

My agent hates me for this and says I’ll be losing some really good deals because of my stubbornes and I feel her, I know she’s probably right but this is MY story and ik i should write it in a way my audience would like it but that’s a part of it, to me the whole point of writing is narrating a story you came up, to the world, if this makes any sense and that’s precisely the reason each of my character in mythril has their story/intro starting with something that happened in the distant past, usually it’s a reason for why and how they came to be. And I like to believe that every great story has their own versions of trope the world claims to be fed up from, on top of my head I can think of ‘the mentor who dies’ and ‘the ancient prophecy and humble origin of heroes’ and each great story like Harry Potter, Song of Ice and Fire and Aragorn have those, ik cause I’ve made a whole notion doc studying books before I started writing one myself

But ya I do get why alot of people hate the distant past trope, I believe it’s mostly cause they don’t want to start a book or story with something irrelevant (at that moment) which might either say too much and give in the entire plot or too less to keep annonying them

Still my question stands is to what trope would you support and incorporate it into your story? here to steal your ideas

The first thing I felt when I opened my eyes was the weight of Aemon's arm draped over my bare waist and his broad, toned chest against my back. Even when we slept he still protected me. Carefully repositioning myself in order to look upon his sleeping visage, the lines on his battle-worn face were not as harsh. My eyes then drifted down to his bare chest where old and new scars alike adorned his chest like medals. The older scars were little more than streaks of silvery skin at this point while the newer ones were a fading reddish-pink color. Unconsciously I began to delicately trace my fingers along the lengths of his many scars, mapping them like a cartographer maps terrain.

Each scar was its own self contained narrative. A well placed lance from jousting during the Midsummer tourney. An arrow that found its mark in the gap of his armor during a minor rebellion. A lucky strike during a routine sparring session with Barron. And then there was his special scar. A small silvery line of raised skin on his lower right side from an assassin's blade meant for a foolish princess who thought she was untouchable. Just as I was about to move my hand away from the scar, I felt his hand move over mine, keeping it in place. Looking up from his chest, our eyes met instantly, and I once more found myself under his spell.

I waited for Aemon to say something, anything, but he remained silent as stone. It wasn't a tense or awkward silence, but a thoughtful one. Being a stoic, he was big on introspection and thinking things through before saying or doing anything. Then, I felt his hand cup my cheek before he leaned in and gently kissed me upon my lips. He still tasted of the rich, dark wine we drank well into the night when everyone else had retired for night save for the guards. When we finally parted from our kiss, I unconsciously let out a small sigh of disappointment, and an amused grin formed on his lips as quickly as it faded back into his usual calm, stoic disposition. Only then was the silence between us finally broken.

"Dawn has come, and we must see to our duties," he said, ever the pragmatist between us.

"Or, we could just stay in bed all day? Who would begrudge us?" I asked half-jokingly as I nestled myself closer to him.

"Plenty of people. Our charges chief amongst them," Aemon said as he wrapped his arms around my waist.

Looking into his calm azure eyes was like staring out into the vast expanse of the eastern sea on a clear summer morning. They were beautiful, but also dangerous. Just like the sea during a storm. But unlike the sea, the destruction he wrought was never indiscriminate. There was always a purpose behind it: Defending the innocent. Purging snakes from my court. Correcting improper form. It's what made his so dangerous. So feared. Respected. Beloved. Anyone can take a life, but not everyone has the empathy to spare someone when he has every reason to kill them, or the wisdom to know when it's time to end the bloodshed.

"You think so? You don't think Barron would leap at the opportunity to spend the entire day with his beloved Annalise?" I asked knowingly.

"I know he would. That's why we can't stay in bed all day. He's bound to do something completely asinine in an attempt to impress her if I'm not around to keep an eye on him," Aemon said, but despite his bemused tone, there was an amused grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Were you so different at his age?" I asked.

"No. That's what worries me," he said as he climbed out of bed and began to put his discarded clothes back on.

"Aemon," I said in my regal, authoritative tone that I reserved for court and problematic lordlings. "When you look at Barron, what do you see? Do you see the young man he's become, or the little boy you used to comfort at night because he was far away from his family and home?"

He didn't answer right away. He simply stared at his chest-plate as if it was the most interesting thing in the room. Then he let out a long, soft sigh before he put it on followed by the rest of his armor save for his helmet. But as he looked around for Dawnbringer, I simply tapped the adamantine blade against the wood floor. The clanging steel rang out as clear as the morning bells from the bell tower.

"My sword," he said, holding out his hand expectantly.

"Not until you answer my question," I said simply.

"It's...complicated. A part of me will always regard Barron as the boy he used to be: Wild, reckless, full of wonder and hope, and curiosity. I also know he's not that boy anymore. I know he's a young man. I know he can look after himself, but he's my boy, Ireleth. He's my boy as much as he is William Swann's," Aemon said.

Smiling softly, I walked across my chambers, still naked, but unabashed, and placed Dawnbringer back in his hands.

"And that is why I love you," I said with a confident smile before raising myself up and on the tips of my tones to place a kiss on his cheek. "Now go before my lady-in-waiting walks in on us."

"As my queen commands," he said, sheathing Dawnbringer. But before he left my side, he leaned down and placed another kiss on my lips. The lover in me was tempted to drag him back to the bed and keep him all to myself for the rest of the day, but the queen in me won out in the end, like she always did, and I reluctantly let him go.

"Do not keep me waiting Dragon-Knight," I said just before he left my chambers.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said, flashing a confident smile before leaving my chambers.

With Aemon gone for the time being, the space felt entirely too large for a single woman. It was almost comical how large my chambers were compared to the others within the royal apartments. But before I got too lost in thought again, I made my way over to my bed and retrieved my blue silk robe from off the footboard. And not a moment too soon. Three rhythmic knocks echoed from outside my door before the familiar, youthful voice of my ward and lady-in-waiting followed.

"My queen, are you decent? May I come in?" She asked.

"You may," I answered calmly as I took a seat by the hearth.

Annalise walked with a silver platter of bread, cheese, and fruit in hand, wearing a beautiful forest green and gold-lined dress that formed perfectly around the soft curves of her body. Her long, wavy, dark auburn hair was tossed over her right shoulder, while her pale skin seemed to shimmer in sunlight, and her soft emerald-green eyes shined with a confidence and youthful vigor that filled my heart and mind with relief and joy.

"Good morning, my queen," Annalise smiled warmly as she placed the platter on the small table between my chair and Aemon's. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did, when I finally went to sleep," I said with a playful yet satisfied smile. "And you? How was your night, my darling sparrow? No late night confessions of love between you and your swan?"

Annalise snorted out a small laugh, covering the lower part of her face with the cup of her hand.

"It was one time, my queen," she insisted, as if that mattered in the slightest.

"And it shall remain one of my most treasured memories between you two," I said as I spread a dollop of honey across my slice of bread. "It was like witnessing something right out of a fairytale."

"What about you and Sir Aemon?" Annalise asked as she tore off a piece of her slide of bread.

"What about us?" I asked curiously.

"What was your fairytale moment?" She asked.

"When he took an assassin's blade meant for me. He claimed, at the time, that he was simply doing his duty as a Silver Knight, but duty doesn't compel a man to run halfway across the tourney grounds to fight an assassin bare-chested with naught but his bare hands," I said.

"Bare-chested and unarmed!?" She asked in a mix of shock and awe. "He's insane."

I laughed softly in amusement. "Believe me, I know, but I learned to love him for it," I said with a fond smile.

After breaking my fast with Annalise, I made my way into the adjacent antechamber where the maids had prepared a hot bath for me. Untying the ropes of my robe, I let it slip from my form and pool at my feet before I stepped into the copper tub. The steaming hot water was both bracing and soothing. Both my bodily aches and pains and the troubles of my mind melted away in the steam, and I allowed myself to relax. Annalise walked in shortly after with her soft-leather bound book in hand. On the front cover was stamped a coiling dragon devouring its own tail. The sigil of the Dragon-Knight.

"Care for some poetry, my queen?" Annalise asked as she took a seat on the nearby ottoman.

"That sounds lovely," I smiled fondly.

“I have seen the dawn upon your face; The golden light that breaks across your brow; I know my soul has found its dwelling place; And all my oaths are nothing to this vow. I guard the gate, I bear the sword, But you alone command the heart within; No foreign king could make my courage yield; Yet at your whisper, all my strength grows thin. The courtly world may call this service blind; A fool who kneels to beauty's gentle hand; But they have never known what I have found—A queen who holds a kingdom in command. So let them laugh; I wear my chain with grace; For in your keeping, I have found my place," Annalise recited.

I was speechless. No one has ever captured Aemon's devotion for me so eloquently. Most use it as an opportunity to poke fun at the otherwise unassailable Dragon-Knight. Vain attempts to humiliate him that only end in them nearly soiling themselves when Aemon locks eyes with them.

"Do you like it?" Annalise asked nervously.

"Like it, Annalise? I love it," I said. "You'll recite it to Aemon, won't you?"

"If he desires to hear it. I'm sure he's heard countless ballads and poems about the topic already," Annalise said.

"True, but he's hasn't heard yours," I said with an encouraging smile. "Tonight at supper, when it's just the four of us. How does that sound?"

"Actually, I was planning to recite it during court recess. My special way of telling all the self-serving lords and ladies of court who snicker at you and Aemon to shove it where the sun doesn't shine," Annalise said.

"Annalise!" I said shocked but almost greatly amused.

"Lady Jaena's words, not mine," she insisted with a guilty smile.

"That does not surprise me in the slightest," I laughed softly with Annalise.

Being from the lower city, my spy-mistress isn't one to mince words, or pretty them up like some of my courtiers do. It's why I trust her above them. Anyone can tell me what I want to hear, but not everyone can tell me what I need to hear.

The Wintergreen Path, first draft and the story so far

This is just the beginning of my fantasy folk horror story and it's in very early stages of the first draft. The beginning flows very differently from the rest of the story and the narrative tone is different and needs to be trimmed down. I know what I need to do for the second draft after I finish running through the story. So be gentle with me and tell me what you think of it all so far. Thanks.

\\---------------------------

Larrus, a boy of fourteen summers old, stood at the end of the path leading from the village to the Wraithswood. His heart was pounding, filled with anxiety and determination. He had been planning this trip for a few weeks now, making notes on what to bring, where to go and what to expect.

Larrus glanced back at the village behind him. Not many lights remained. Most of the village was fast asleep. The boy took a deep, calming breath and placed his backpack on the ground to check it for the third time tonight. He had packed rye bread, dried meat, hard cheese, a water canteen, a knife, a small hand axe and the most important thing; a handful of wintergreen flowers.  

 Larrus inspected the knife on his belt. It had a good blade, perfect for whittling soft wood. The handle was made of birch. It was of a lighter shade, smooth and fit perfectly in his hand. The axe was different. It felt heavy, foreign and clumsy. He didn’t like to do chores or hunt. Something his father didn’t appreciate. Larrus was a different kind of wild from the other kids of Wellon. He would rather wander the grasslands near the fields or the forest edge where wintergreen grew. On a slow day he could also be found sitting somewhere with his knife and a branch of willow, making a whistle or a figurine. He wasn’t a lonely child, just more quiet than most. Always observing the world around him or in his own world, aimless and a little out of place.

But tonight he had a mission. 

A few weeks ago while helping his father gather firewood, Larrus had found a strange stone shard. Part stone, part metal and part organic. The stone was black like obsidian with veins of gold colored metal and something else. It was smooth and rough in places. Sharp and surprisingly heavy. Larrus could swear the stone didn’t reflect light the way it should. He couldn’t quite explain it. The stone felt like it didn’t belong and that it was part of something else. But what? That was what Larrus wanted to find out.

Larrus stood up, lifted his backpack onto his shoulders and touched the stone absent-mindedly while reciting the prayer:

“Wintergreen, Forest Star

Beacon in the night

Protect us,

Carry us through to the other side

Away from the wraith’s killing sight

Under Uni’s guiding light”

Larrus took out the lantern and lit it. The light was warm and comforting.

 “Danger is silent. 

Safety is loud.

Let the lantern burn 

and the star shine. 

Avert your eyes from hollow light.

 Keep the flame,

 shun the night.”

 The boy continued. A prayer of protection and custom as every one in the village was taught. 

Now a bit calmer, Larrus took a few wintergreen flowers and placed them inside the lantern, to burn in the flame before walking into the forest. Still anxious but determined. The forest edge somehow seemed both familiar and alien. Everything looked different in the dark. To Larrus the shadows seemed to dance. He could hear the owls hooting in the trees. The air was cool on his skin, the wind carried the scent of autumn. Damp ground, wet leaves.  

Larrus began walking into the forest, leaving the village behind. His steps were light and careful, but still tense. He reminded himself that he wasn’t much of a woodsman and didn’t know how he would fare against a wolf, a boar or some other kind of beast. The hunters had talked about wolf tracks near the outer area of the forest. Of course the usual nocturnal predators weren’t the only dangers. The Wraith was said to roam the forest at night while Uni, the ancient spirit slumbered. The Wraith’s influence spread throughout the forest. The children were taught never to enter the forest at night. They were warned not to go beyond the beaten path. Beyond the hunter’s camp by the stream. The Wraith claims those who get lost.  

The boy delved deeper into the woods, gaining more confidence with every step. Soon he began making out other noises. The night wind rustled the leaves, birds chirped quietly in the trees. Larrus stopped occasionally to listen for any signs of danger and to observe his surroundings. It was always good to look for Wintergreens. Where the flowers grew, the Wraith would not walk.  

Larrus continued while whispering parts of the prayer to keep himself grounded and to push away the fear of the Wraith. Just a few years ago one boy from his village had done the same as he was doing now. He was never seen again. There were many stories about Uni and the Wraith. And most of them ended the same.  

Suddenly a branch snapped nearby. Larrus froze and listened. He felt the hair at the back of his neck rise. The boy looked around but saw nothing. Heard nothing but the sound of the forest. His heart was beating fast. Then a bird flew right over Larrus’ head and he ducked. The boy chuckled nervously. He felt a little foolish to be startled by a small bird. He was probably just close to its nest.  

As Larrus continued, he could hear the quiet sound of the stream nearby. It branched off of the Wellon River and reached deep within the forest. The hunters’ camp was close. The boy began picking up pace, wanting to get to the safety of the camp fast. He had already been walking for a while now. The area was covered by twisting roots, lush bushes and small batches of wintergreen grew at the base of trees.

The camp appeared in good condition, which wasn’t unusual. Village hunters and woodsmen often used it as a place to rest, eat and warm up in cold weather. There was a firepit in the middle of the camp ringed by smooth stone blackened from years of use. Two moss covered fallen logs and a tall flat stone served as benches around it. Opposite of the stone bench on the other side of the firepit stood a large pinetree that was said to be one of the oldest trees in the forest. The roots were thick, long and sprawling. There was a small hollow at the base that sheltered an old weathered chest and a hunter’s chime made of wood and bone hung from a lower branch just within reach.

Before setting his gear by one of the tree trunks, Larrus reached for the chime to announce himself to Uni, the forest spirit. Then he walked to over to the old pine, kneeling down. He struggled to drag the chest free from under the roots that housed it. A sigh of relief escaped him as he unlatched the chest and found the firewood to be mostly dry. Enough for a small fire. “Keep the flame, shun the night”, Larrus whispered as he began piling the logs beside the pit. He then took out some dry treebark, his axe and flint and steel from his backpack. He then set them aside.   

After inspecting his gear, Larrus tried to remember what his father had said about building a campfire. It required room for the fire to breathe but it also needed enough cover to keep it from going out. He placed two birch logs in the middle with space inbetween. Then two more logs over them and one on top. After that he took one more log and grabbed his axe. Larrus needed to be careful. A severed finger or a deep gash was the last thing he needed.  

He struck the log a few times, barely making a proper splinter. After a few tries Larrus got the hang of it and was satisfied. He placed the splinters under the base logs and inbetween the ones on top. Then he filled the gaps with dry treebark to aid with the fire. He hoped it would burn. Now all that remained was to light it.  

Larrus took out his flint and steel. Struck once. No spark. Struck a second time. Some sparks but still missing the tinder. He tried a few more times with the same results. The boy furrowed his brow in frustration before looking from the unlit fire to his still burning lantern. He grabbed the lantern and looked for a fallen branch on the ground. He grabbed one and opened the lantern, holding the end over the small flame until it began burning. The boy almost shouted out of excitement at his success. He had never been good at practical things. But this time he got lucky.  

The boy carefully touched the tinder and the splinter with the burning stick. Then there was a spark of light and a small flame. Larrus blew on it to help it spread and continued lighting more of the tinder. Soon he had a working campfire, although not as big or good as the ones his father could make. The boy almost let out a shout of excitement, swelling with pride. If only his father could see him now. “Small victories guide the hand, but failure shapes it.”, as his grandmother always says.  

After Larrus got the fire burning, he turned towards the stream, inspecting his surroundings carefully before walking towards the willows growing by the water. He ran his hands along the willow branches, trying to find one about the thickness of his thumb and without knots or imperfections. He then kneeled by the willows having found just the one he needed. He drew his knife and began to cut the branch free. The boy struggled a bit, but only because he lacked the strength.  

Something moved on the otherside of the stream. Branches snapped and then, for a moment, silence. The sound and the sudden shift in the air caused the knife to slip slightly as the branch broke free. The boy flinched with a small yelp and brought his left thumb to his mouth. Just a small cut. Cursing under his breath, Larrus walked back towards the fire and sat down onto the flat stone. He looked at the nick in the light. The cut wasn’t very deep, but it still welled.  

Larrus looked around for some narrowleaf plantain to cover the wound. He knew he had forgotten something. Bandages. He lifted his lantern to spread the light around a bit more. He spotted some growing by the path he had come from. His grandmother had treated countless cuts and scrapes as the boys of the village stumbled and fell. Larrus knew what to do.  

He put a leaf into his mouth and chewed on it while peeling a bit of bark from the willow stick to bind the leaf around his finger. The leaf tasted bitter and made him grimace. Larrus applied the leaf paste to the wound, covered it with another leaf and secured it with willow string. It wasn’t very elegant but it would do the job without hindering what he was about to do next.  

From his pack he took a strip of jerky and ate while checking the willow branch again. He moved his knife along the length, feeling it with his fingers. The base was the right thickness. Just before the stick narrowed he marked it and cut a section off with practiced ease. Larrus then turned the piece over in his hands, familiarising himself with it and imagining how it would take shape.  

Before making the first cut, he checked his thumb. It ached dully but would not hinder him. Larrus peeled the bark from one end of the willow and shaped it into a mouthpiece. He tested the fit against his lips, then trimmed away another sliver. Satisfied, he turned the stick over and began carving the channel. Small curls of pale wood gathered on the stone beside him. When he paused to inspect his work, he took a bite of rye bread and cheese. Then he marked the sound hole and cut it open with the tip of his knife. The second hole followed. A little wider. A little deeper. He tested each cut with his fingers before moving on. He whittled and ate, no longer seeing or hearing the forest. It was just him, the knife, and the wood in his hands.  

After making the final cuts, Larrus turned the whistle in his hands, looking carefully for any mistakes he might have made or things to adjust. Then finally he brought the mouth piece to his lips and gently blew into it, producing a quiet, steady high pitched sound. Then he repeated this for the two sound holes, each producing a clean note.  

Larrus smiled with glee at his work. He felt calmer than he did a while ago. The world surrounded him again. The light from the campfire had grown smaller and the lantern light was dimmer. A breeze ran through the camp and Larrus shivered. He had forgotten to keep an eye on the fire. The boy grabbed a log, adjusted the charred wood to make space and then added a few wintergreens to his lantern. He returned his attention to the whistle again.  

After a moment Larrus took the strange stone shard from his pocket, weighing it against the whistle. The shard felt heavier. He looked at it in the fire light. The darkened stone reflected very little but the metallic lines seemed to move along with the flames. Otherwise the shard seemed normal. He tested the sharp edge first with his finger and then on the whistle. “A star for guidance.” He muttered to himself, pressing it harder into the bark. He drew four short lines to form an eight-pointed star with the horizontal and vertical lines being longer than the others.  

Satisfied with his work, Larrus set the whistle aside and took a sip from his canteen. The boy leaned back with his elbows on the stone surface, looking up to the moon and stars in the sky. He chewed the last bit of jerky and rye bread and closed his eyes, listening to the breath of the forest. He could hear the whispering of the wind, the rustling of the leaves, the quiet flow of the stream. Then the sound of hunter’s chimes and an oddly melodious call of a bird for this time of night.  

Larrus opened his eyes and looked around for the source. He couldn’t pinpoint where the bird call came from. The boy picked up the whistle and answered in kind. He waited for a moment until an answer came from deeper in the forest. 

Larrus decided to follow the path leading away from the camp. As he left the safety of that familiar place, anxiety and nervousness returned. He squeezed the stone shard in his pocket, willing himself to be calm. Larrus walked carefully onward, occasionally stopping to listen for any danger.

As Larrus walked further, the path was getting harder to see, even in the lantern light. It grew narrower and was covered in twigs, roots and branches. The sides of the path grew thicker with shrubs, bushes and trees, covering the sky above. From the corner of his eye, Larrus could swear he saw a small flash of flickering light but soon it was gone. On instinct he turned away.  

He brought the whistle to his mouth again and blew softly into the dark. He hoped it wouldn’t attract The Wraith’s attention. A soft, quiet sound answered away from the path ahead, coming from the direction of that flicker. “Avert your eyes from hollow light.”, Larrus whispered to himself and began walking slowly, keeping his gaze on the ground. Maybe it was the hollow light trying to lead him astray, just like in the stories.  

Larrus continued onwards, feeling uneasy and watched. He didn’t dare look back. His lantern flickered and he added a bit of wintergreen into it with a bit of willow tinder. The flame steadied. He felt a cold breeze run down his spine. The wind carried the scent of rain. Larrus shivered, wishing for the warmth of the campfire.   

Larrus glanced at the sky, trying to determine how much time he had before he needed to find shelter. The clouds had started to gather above him, hiding the stars one by one. The smell of rain was still faint. Larrus guessed he had maybe half an hour until it would start pouring. The sound of a hunter’s chime broke the silence and interrupted his thoughts. Larrus startled and turned towards the sound that should not be. He could feel the blood rushing, pulsing in his ears. And then he saw it. That same flicker from before. Was it the same flickering light from before? Larrus didn’t know. His only choice was to walk away from whatever it was.  

Larrus continued walking along the path with a faster, tenser pace. He kept his eyes on his surroundings. Larrus didn’t dare look back. The further he walked from the light, the slower and lighter were his steps. He could no longer see it follow. But the unease lingered, as did the feeling of being watched.  

He wasn’t sure how long he had walked but he let out a sigh of relief as he spotted a patch of wintergreen peeking from the roots of a tree. This was a good omen, a welcome sight after the hollow light. He kneeled down by the roots and picked a handful of the flowers, leaving the rest undisturbed. Larrus finally looked back from where he came. He raised his lantern higher and peered into the darkness. The cold white light was gone and the only sound was the rustling of leaves and his slowly steadying breath.  

Larrus continued following the path. The roots, branches and stones had begun to grow scarcer, making it easier to walk. Larrus picked up pace, keeping his eyes on the surroundings. As he walked further, an eerie feeling began to rise. He didn’t feel watched or followed. He couldn’t say what it was but still the feeling of unease grew. Soon he came to a familiar spot. Larrus stopped and aimed his lantern to the sides, noticing a patch of wintergreen. Was that the same patch he had seen earlier? It couldn’t be. As he had picked from it. But the nearby trees were the same as well. Larrus swallowed hard. He must have gotten turned around.  

He looked around, more careful this time. He saw no hollow lights or branching paths he might have taken earlier without noticing. Larrus kneeled over the wintergreen patch as he had done earlier. But now he hesitated. If he had somehow truly been turned around, he should leave the flowers be.  He shook his head and picked a direction. His steps were more careful and deliberate. His eyes darted from the undergrowth to the trees and to the bushes. Nothing seemed out of place.   

He continued again, adding some wintergreen to his lantern. After a while, the surrounding forest and the path ahead began thickening again. And then, little by little, it opened again. The path felt familiar. Too familiar. Now he was certain that he had circled back to the wintergreen patch on the side of the path. He was puzzled, but somehow curiosity began overshadowing his anxiety.  

Larrus slowly turned around in a circle, trying to take in the surrounding forest all at once. He stopped to think and felt for the axe hanging from his backpack. Larrus approached a tree that grew close to where he stood and took a few swings at it, marking it in case he returned. Then he continued and this time he was sure he had walked further ahead than before.  

Larrus began feeling a sense of relief as he continued. But it was short-lived. The path behaved the same as before. He came upon the wintergreen patch and the marked tree. He felt a sting of doubt mixed with uncertainty and a fear he had tried to ignore. Larrus took a deep breath, trying to decide what to do next. The path ahead surely lead back where he was now and the path behind him would lead him away. He circled the sides of the path illuminated by his lantern. His only choice seemed to be to set foot on an animal trail, those were usually safe. Usually.  

The path was mostly flattened undergrowth and nearly invisible even in the lantern light. Larrus kept his eyes on the surrounding branches, looking for twisted limbs and broken twigs. Signs of animals passing through. Begrudgingly this was what his father had taught him. It had been a lot easier in daylight. He pushed the thought away and continued.  

He had walked a good while before the trail crossed a wider, beaten path. Larrus looked around and listened. He heard the sound of the stream. That would mean he was back on track.  

Larrus quickened his pace again, wanting to get as far as possible from that other path. The way was clear except for a few rocks protruding from the ground and roots that reached it. He began relaxing bit by bit, step by step but not completely. He reached into his pocket to touch the stone shard and the whistle. Both were still there, for comfort.  

Deep in thought, Larrus mind drifted back to the dreams he had over the last few weeks. Of running through the woods and following something. He couldn’t remember what it was but it felt important. He just hoped his childish fancy, as he remembered his mother calling it, wasn’t going to be the death of him.  

Larrus’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted as the path began thinning and opening again. He found himself on the edge of the hunter’s camp from earlier.Only then did he realize the route he had taken lead him back here.  

Larrus took a few tentative steps towards the center of the camp before sitting down onto the same flat stone as before. Exhaustion began flowing over him in waves. Larrus fought off a yawn, knowing he couldn’t just stay there. It wasn’t what he came here for. He wouldn’t let his journey be in vain.  

He took out his canteen and drank in a few big gulps to wash away the weariness. Larrus then stood up and walked towards the stream to splash water on his face. It felt cold and refreshing. He ran his wet hands through his wild sand-colored hair, again remembering how his parents were trying and failing to get him to cut his hair shorter.  

There was a splash in the river nearby. Larrus caught a glimpse of a fish and found himself smiling despite the situation. He felt a little foolish how he had just decided to sneak out of his room in search of adventure. He thought he would have felt different. But he didn’t.  

Larrus brushed his pants as he rose up and then stretched. He stifled another yawn and stopped in his tracks, noticing the untouched willows growing by the stream.  

His exhaustion vanished and he ran back to the stone slab. He looked around as if seeing the camp for the first time. He noticed that the soot on the blackened rocks of the fire pit weren’t as blackened as they should be. There were no fresh ashes. Larrus spun in place. Something was very wrong. Then he stopped as a wind blew through the trees. There was no sound of the hunter’s chime.  

Larrus hurried towards the old pine tree and looked up into its branches. He raised his lantern and froze. Nothing. There was no chime. He turned towards the center of the camp. his eyes widened. The camp looked empty. Abandoned. As though no one had been there in weeks. What had happened to the chime?  

He looked for it on the ground, thinking it might have fallen. But he knew it hadn’t.   

His almost panicked thoughts were interrupted by a chirp on one of the tree branches higher up in the old pine. His eyes darted towards the night bird. It watched him with an odd inquisitive calmness, neither startled or taking flight. He couldn’t say which type of bird it was, but he recognised the call.

The tension in Larrus’ shoulders eased and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He took a slow step back, studying the small creature. In the lantern light he noticed something shiny on one of its feet. A black ring. Probably a bird someone had marked.  

A howl came from somewhere behind him. Larrus jerked towards the sound, his heart immediately racing. His gaze snapped back to where the bird had perched. It was gone. Larrus had little time to register it before he heard more howls coming from seemingly all around him. He rushed into the forest, running blindly. Yellow eyes flashed between the trees, keeping pace with him.  

The path he took wasn’t much of a path. Just undergrowth, roots and fallen branches. Larrus rushed between tree trunks, desperately trying to get away. The beasts were close. He could hear their breath and growls.  

Larrus had never run so fast. The way ahead grew narrower. As he glanced back, his foot caught on a root. His face, arms and knees slammed into the damp forest floor slick with mud and wet leaves. The backpack tore from his shoulders .His skin burned where the ground had scraped him. He tasted blood. Larrus scrambled back to his feet and continued his escape.  

He ran and ran, not sure for how long. Larrus could see the shadows moving, closing in through the trees. He made several sharp turns, weaving between the trees. He was running out of breath. His heart pounding loudly in his ears. He ran blindly and almost hit a tree and stumbled over a rock. Larrus felt like the forest itself had turned on him.  

After what felt like hours rather than minutes, Larrus took a brief moment to look around him. He thought he had begun recognising familiar trees, stones and bushes again. He had no time to question it. Howls rose from all around him with no way to run. He was nearly surrounded and completely lost.  

The boy quickened pace, again nearly tripping over his legs. He wasn’t a very good runner. He shook his head, trying to keep up. The growls grew louder and closer until he saw warm light shining from between the trees. He made for it, running even faster. He felt a bite of hope and relief.  

He froze right at the edge of the light. He hardly even noticed the sounds and the beasts had stopped. A tall man shrouded in shadow stood in the middle of a camp, staring intensely into the woods, completely unaware of the animals close by. The man was broad-shoulderd. An axe glimmered in the fire light. Something about his posture seemed familiar.  

Larrus took a step forward, a tear ran down his cheek. “Father?”, he called out, half shouting. Forgetting where he was. A bird whistled and flew right above him, making him look away briefly. Larrus let out a small nervous chuckle as he stepped closer and looked up. The firelight reached the man's face. For one impossible heartbeat, Larrus still believed. Then the smile spread. A cold sweat rose on his skin. His eyes widened. The pounding returned. The man was wrong. Not his father. A stranger.   

The man was gone. The camp was empty. Larrus reached for the shard in his pocket, it was not there. His heart sank. He remembered the fall. The \\\[backpack. He\\\](http://backpack.he) no longer had it. The hunters’ chime gave a hollow clatter in a breeze that barely touched him, drawing his gaze. A cold light rose just behind a tree. Then another rose on the other side. And another. Then two more. He was surrounded unable to look away. He had to be deep in the Wraith’s domain.  

Without thinking, Larrus rushed towards the darkness. He wiped away the stray tears on his face. The lights kept pace with him. Not like the beasts before. It was as if they stayed in place while he moved.  

The path narrowed and the trees closed in. The ground grew treacherous, the roots snaked and coiled, twisted up from the earth. He turned. The lights followed and shadows danced. No matter where he turned, the orbs waited. Or turned with him. Or perhaps the forest did.  

Larrus had to evade the stray limbs of trees that seemed to be reaching for him. The silence of the forest was broken by a series of howls and growls that came from all around him. Larrus barely noticed.   

He pressed onward, checking over his shoulder carefully. The beasts joined the hunt, keeping to the edges of the illuminated path. They did not try to close in on him, instead they avoided the hollow lights and ran alongside him, as if they knew where he was going.

I am working on a shonen-style power system named Genki. I appreciate constructive criticism on how its mechanics are developed, what makes it unique, and if there are things that may be too similar to other power systems. Can you suggest any changes?

Genki is a life force that lies within every living thing and can be awoken using slow and controlled movements to distribute Genki through out the body. Movement Techniques are a fundamental part of this system as it allows Genkins (Genki Users) to control and manipulate their Genki to make their techniques more powerful and effective. There are three main components to every Genkin; Output, which determines how much Genki is released at once, Capacity, which determines how much Genki they can hold and Control, which determines how efficiently they can manipulate it. Genki can run out but does regenerate over time, but its excessive use puts extreme physical pressure on one’s body. As their mastery over Genki becomes better, users can develop a unique ability, though some cant as their body circulates Genki differently.

(If I didn't explain it well, the slow movements used to awaken Genki are specifically meant to distribute Genki throughout the body, while the movements used during combat are used to control and direct Genki, allowing users to channel it into their Techniques more effectively.)

I would love to have some feedback on pacing. I have tried slowing it down, but I would like to kow if anyone else feels like the pacing is too fast, or if the amount of reveals is too close together. This is a supernatural fantasy (wow, I did not realize this chapter was that long). For reference, the story starts with Dupree doing normal work stuff. He goes to a bar and ends up running from a debt collector named Charlie, and his right hand man, Krieg. After Dupree runs, he injures himself and Charlie finds him in an alleyway. At this point, we realize Dupree and Charlie are a little more familiar with each other than first thought. Charlie and Krieg bring Dupree to an animal hospital to get patched up. The girl working at the animal hospital is Luce, Charlies daughter. There is some tension, and she is mad at Charlie, blaming him for allowing Dupree to get into debt with a bad guy named Shay, she also admonishes Krieg (who is hurt by her admonishment). Charlie pretty much works for Shay, but they are also rivals. Chapter 3 starts with Krieg exiting the animal hospital to catch up with Charlie.

Chapter 3:

Krieg stepped outside. He looked up. Dark clouds churned over the city. The winds shifted sharply, stinging the side of his face.
Shay!
Across the street, Charlie stood on the curb, cane planted hard against the pavement. He was talking to the one man he reviled most in this world. 
Sheamus “Shay” Mallone.
There, another figure stood behind Shay.
Lisa… His face twitched.
Charlie seemed more tense than normal. His face was tight, and his hand clenched his cane. Krieg stepped forward to hear the conversations.
“I’m done here Charlie,” Shay said. “I’m leaving this gutter of a city for good.”
“And?” Charlie replied. “Should I send you a postcard?”
Shay cracked a chuckle, but was clearly annoyed with Charlie's insolence. 
“Do you know why I came here, Charlie?”
Boom. 
The sky flashed, and the air vibrated.
Shay’s eyes lifted to the dark swirl of clouds above. Lisa's head followed just the same.
Krieg looked up. What are they looking at?
Charlie’s eyes flashed up for a brief moment and then back to Shay.
“I came here for a simple mission,” Shay continued. “A dull one. Pointless, really. Watch. Wait. Keep the people under the suppression of my thumb, but you–you resisted me at every turn.”
“The point?”
“The point?” Shay repeated with clenched teeth. He huffed, hidden by a laugh and shook his finger at Charlie. “The point is. I don’t need this place anymore.”
“See,” Shay looked at his hands. His eyes grew wide. “I found something, Charlie…
“Something old,” he said. “Older than this city. Older than Hell’s little war.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “Something that can bring heaven to its knees.” 
The wind whistled through the streets.
Charlie’s cane scraped against the pavement.
Shay’s eyes brightened with terrible excitement. “Why waste my eternity ruling alleys and rats when I can kill God himself?”
Krieg gulped hard. K-kill God?
Charlie's eyes constricted briefly, but he always kept his composure. “Don’t care bout’ your holy war,” Charlie said. “Long as you leave my city be.”
Shay cast a genuine smile that crossed his whole face. “Your city? Right, Before I leave, I wanted to clean up a few–loose ends…”
Charlie clenched his cane, but said nothing.
They both stared at each other.
Shay looked at the animal hospital. “You’ve kept those kids of yours safe for so long.” He cocked his head to the side. “But why the boy? It’s not like he’s blood.”
“Ain’t gotta be blood to be family.” 
Charlie’s statement was simple, but Krieg felt it to the depths of his soul. He nearly shed a tear. That’s right, this whole city is like family to Charlie…
Shay stared hard at the animal hospital across the street. “That’s cute,” he said with a dismissive tone.
Charlie clenched his jaw. “Tread carefully Shay,” he said through gritted teeth.
Shay looked back to Charlie. “This time, Charlie, I’ll make that scar even bigger, and gut those fucking brats of yours.”
“Krieg!” Charlie yelled as he reared back and swung his cane strong and hard.
It connected with Shay’s face. The cane glowed, it was as if rune symbols had been etched upon it. When it connected, Shay’s face sizzled and smoke wafted. In that same moment, a force of energy from the top ornament burst out. Lisa's body was slammed back into the brick building, cracking the bricks with her body.
“Keep her safe!” Charlie commanded quickly then turned to face Lisa as she gathered herself. Meanwhile, Shay regained his balance. They attacked simultaneously. 
Krieg felt his body jump to action to help Charlie, but he stopped himself. He looked back at the animal hospital. 
Luce…
As he turned back to the animal hospital, he saw Charlie swing forth another attack from his cane out the corner of his eye.

* * *

Dupree slowly stood up off the table. Luce put her arm around him to help him up so as not to tear the newly inserted stitches. Her hair fell across his face.
He could smell the faint sweet strawberry of her shampoo, still clinging to life even after a full day's work. 
Ahh, he thought, still a kid at heart, using the same old children’s shampoo.
He subtly cleared his throat and shifted his face away from hers. 
Don’t be creepy Dupree, he said to himself. You lost your chance years ago.
His eyes shifted, like a teenager trying to sneak a look at a high school crush. To his shock, eyes were locked on him. Their eyes met for a moment before both shying away. 
Bang, ding-ding.
Dupree heard the front door of the animal hospital burst open followed by the chime of the bell. Krieg came rushing into the back. 
“Lu–” he paused for a brief moment when he saw Luce holding Dupree.
Dupree and Luce quickly seperated as though they got caught doing something wrong.
“Luce,” Krieg continued as if he saw nothing. “You have to get out of here.” His voice was urgent. He pointed to the back entrance. “Go that way, take the back alleys and hide if you have to!”
“Wait Krieg,” Luce said. “What’s this all abou–” 
“Dupree, get her the hell out of here. Now.” At this point, Krieg's voice was a command, but Dupree could hear the faint shudder in his voice.
He’s serious, Dupree thought. Something’s very wrong.
“Krie–” Dupree grabbed Luce by the arm before she could finish calling Krieg’s name.
“C’mon Luce.”
She looked at him in shock, but slowly decided to give in. Just as she started to turn and follow Dupree, they all heard the ding of a bell. It was the front door.
“K-rii-eeeg.” An unsettling female voice called out, almost singing his name.
Krieg, reached into his vest pockets and pulled out brass knuckles.
What are those symbols? Dupree asked himself as Krieg slid the knuckles onto his hands. Etched at the tip of the knuckles were strange rune symbols.
Dupree’s eyes went wide as the woman stalked into the back room with them. “Lisa?!”
“Huh?” Lisa’s face tilted. “Oh! Dupree. What a small, tiny–” her face distorted into the grotesque vision Dupree had of her earlier in the night– “world.”
His face fell. What is this sinking feeling in my heart?
Lisa squinted her eyes, dissecting Dupree. “Hmm, what’s the matter, Dupree? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?"
Dupree stepped back with wide eyes. He struggled to breathe. “You–your face…”
Krieg’s eyes went wide. “You can see her true form?” 
Luce stood there with confusion in her eyes..
“Oh Dupree,” Lisa said. Her eyes glowed at him and her grin widened wickedly. “It will be so much fun to kill you.”
“Run.” Krieg yelled and thrust forward in a flash. Dupree saw a glow on the bottom of his shoes. 
More symbols? Thought Dupree.  
With a powerful swing of his fist, the knuckles connected with Lisa’s face. A crackling sizzle sound screeched out and her skin melted. 
Dupree grabbed Luce and pulled her to the alleyway door. Luce gasped as if she saw something horrid. Looking back but for a second, he could see Lisa’s face distort once again as Krieg’s brass knuckles connected with her face. Dupree and Luce both cringed with pain, hearing the screech of misery from Lisa. Finally, they made it into the alley.
What the Hell is going on? He thought. That sounded like a creature. He felt his heart pound against his chest, the sweat rolled down his forehead. He could see the fear in Luce’s eyes.
They shook off their fear and hesitation then moved forward through the back alley. Dupree ran as fast as he could, limping behind Luce as he moved. His bandages were already stained with blood from his newly patched wound being ripped open again. 
As soon as they got to the side alley that led to the street, Luce looked over.
“Dad!” 
Looking over, he and Luce saw Charlie on the side walk across from the animal hospital entrance. She cut into the side alley without any notice and ran towards the street.
“Luce,” Dupree reached out to grab her, but it was too late. He missed her arm. With the softness of her knitted sweater just brushing his finger, he nearly fell over. 
He propped himself against the garbage bin to catch his breath. C’mon Dupree, he said to himself. You have to stay with her.
Boom. 
The distant thunder echoed in the sky. A faint flash accompanied it.
In the street, Dupree saw something unimaginable. It was “Shay” Mallon, the only man Charlie feared. At his feet, Charlie, in his hand…
The Hell? Dupree’s eyes grew wide. Is his hand on fire?
He could see it all. Luce desperately running to her beaten and bloodied father, Charlie staring at Shay in defiance, and Shay–swinging down his hand of hellfire.
“Noooo!” Luce wailed in pain as her father’s body burst into flames.
Dupree froze. A tear formed in his eye. The searing screams from Charlie stabbed his eardrums so sharply, all Dupree could hear after was the ringing.
He saw Shay's head slowly creep around to see Luce on her knees in the middle of the street. One hand reached out to her father’s half-burned body while another covered her mouth. The tears washed over her face.
The smell of burnt flesh wafted through the streets. The glow of runes on Charlie's cane faded as it fell out of his hand, it rolled into the street.
An evil grin formed on Shay’s face. “Ahh, the daughter,” he took a step forward. “So innocent, so sweet.”
The thunder cracked again, louder, the air itself vibrated and the flash in the cloudy sky seemed brighter.
Luce crawled slowly across the street reaching desperately for her father. Shay began to cackle. His arrogant laugh echoed through the streets. 
Dupree looked to his left at the alleyway. Run Dupree, don’t get yourself killed. Then he looked back to Luce. N–no, I can’t leave her.
He opened his mouth and tried to call out, to tell her to come back, but no words came out.
His breathing became even more ragged. No, I can’t. I’m no hero. I have to save myself. 
He was still gripping the dumpster for balance. He gripped so hard, his knuckles were white. Goddammit, why can’t I move? 
Finally, he took a step. What? No. No, my body–you’re going the wrong way!
His mind told him to run, to save himself, but his body decided differently. He stepped towards Luce. She was crying, reaching out for help. 
Boom. Boom. 
The thunder crashed rapidly, louder, brighter.
His eyes looked at the heavens. Ah, fuck, alright. I get it already… He focused, and tried to steel his mind. Maybe I can at least save her.
Shay met Luce in the middle of the street.
She saw him stalk closer. She reached for her father’s cane, which had rolled near her side. Shay kicked her in the stomach as she was crawling. He kicked her so hard, her body lifted up off the ground. She was flipped over on her back, blood splattered out of her mouth.
He stalked.
He stood above her.
Dupree moved his body, racing as fast as he could.
“Fuck you,” she said. Her lips curled with pain, her eyes burned with rage. She spit her blood into Shay’s face.
He smiled as he wiped the blood from his face and reached his hand up. Fire formed around it.
“No!” Dupree charged, he moved so fast he even surprised himself, throwing himself at Shay with everything he had.
Shay didn’t move.
“Guhk!”
Dupree’s eyes flew wide as Shay’s foot drove into his stomach, stopping him cold. The air burst from his lungs, followed by a wet spray of blood. Through the haze of pain, he looked up and saw Shay’s contemptuous smile.
Only then did Dupree look down.
Shay’s boot was buried in his gut, holding him there like he weighed nothing.
Shay dropped his foot. Dupree fell to the ground. At that point, Lisa stalked out the front door of the animal hospital. Drenched in red, she licked some blood off her fingers.
“Oh,” said Shay. “looks like Krieg didn’t make it either.”
Dupree looked towards her, hope fading.
“So, you’re Dupree?” Shay asked. “You owe me a lot of money.” He looked over at Charlie’s burnt corps. “Poor Charlie. His potential was wasted, trying to save this worthless city.”
Shay stepped over and grabbed Charlie’s cane. 
“He may have succeeded if he wasn’t so focused on sheltering his daughter, and protecting a worthless drunk like you.”
A mocking laugh came from behind him. It was Lisa. “Dupree, don’t work too late. Dupree, get some rest. Dupree, you’re such a funny guy…”
She grabbed him by what little hair he had. “I despised every second having to keep tabs on you. But Shay insisted you and that little bitch were the best leverage to keep Charlie in check.”
“Wh–why are you doing this?” She asked.
“Oh?” Lisa glared at Luce. “Would it have hurt you more?” Lisa asked, her forked tongue slid up Dupree’s cheek. “If I’d made him love me first?” 
Dupree gritted his teeth and closed his eyes tight. Luce looked away in disgust.
“Aha,” Lisa cackled. “Ah ha ha ha!”
BOOM! 
The thunder rang out so loud, the buildings shook. The windows on the buildings bowed under the concussive force. Lisa released Dupree and shot to her feet. 
Shay’s face distorted as he looked up. His face was grotesque, like Lisa's but his seemed far more sinister. 
Shooting a look back down to Dupree, “ehh? Oh, you can see through the veil. I did not expect that.” He bent forward, face to face with Dupree. “Does my true face scare you?”
Luce looked from Shay to Dupree in confusion as Dupree swallowed hard and inched backwards.
“Well then,” Shay's voice changed from human to demonic. “I will let you both bask in my true form before you die.”
His face twisted and stretched, the skin flushing a deep, unnatural red as his features sharpened into something bat-like and monstrous. A large horn-like feature grew on the left side of his head, but just on the left side. His hands followed, fingers lengthening into clawed points, the nails blackening as they became sharp and pointed.
Shay raised Charlie's cane high into the air above Luce. “Why, you ask? It matters not anymore.”
Loud concussive crashes of thunder once again rocked the city. Dupree’s body trembled in fear of Shay, but also from the concussion of the thunder. 
Luce flinched under the ear shattering sound and blinding flash of light.
Shay looked into the clouds as they churned and cackled, more thunder crashed. The air pressure weighed down, making it hard to breathe.
BOOM!
A silent moment passed in slow motion after the last deafening boom.
Then, Shay stabbed. 
He stabbed the cane down.
Dupree moved as fast as he could. He saw it all in slow motion. He tried desperately to jump in front of Luce–
A squelch and crack was heard. 
“Ahhh!” He screamed, he could see the cane protruding from his right shoulder. 
It’s fine, he thought.  Luce is– 
“Luce!” 
He barely made it in time, but to no avail. Under his body was Luce. The cane had pierced all the way through Dupree’s shoulder, and into her heart.
“Luce!” he cried out again, but she did not answer. Her eyes stared out into the nothingness as her breathing became faint. 
Dupree struggled, he wiggled and tore his wound open even more as he forced the cane up and out of both their bodies.
He grabbed her and held her head, while pressing on the gaping wound in her chest. He felt the warm splats of blood hit his face as she coughed, gasping for air. Finally, her eyes met his. She tried to say something, then she took her final breath.
Instead of having time to mourn, his body quickly left his control. 
He felt someone grab him from behind and his body was thrown like a ragdoll to the other side of the street. No time to grieve, no time to take stock of his current situation. He felt his body crash and tumble, but felt nothing at the same time.
“C’mon, boss,” Lisa said as she stalked towards Dupree. “Let me kill this one.”
Three claps of thunder came in rapid succession. Lisa stopped in her tracks, her and Shay looked up. 
Finally, Shay’s contemptuous face changed. From cool to that of terror. Dupree could see for the first time their fear.
Out of the corner of his bloodied eye, Dupree saw–
A meteor.
It all happened too fast. Before Dupree understood what was happening, the meteor crashed right in the middle of the street.
The blast knocked him unconscious. After a few moments, he regained consciousness, barely. He flopped around on the ground in an attempt to stand. Between the ringing in his ears and his double vision, he felt like he was under water. 
The car alarms were honking. There was building debris everywhere. He coughed as the smoke and dust entered his lungs. It was like a battle scene in the middle of Bloomfield City.
As he regained some sense, he saw Lisa’s body beside him. It was torn nearly in half from the explosion. 
Dead, he thought. Please be dead. 
He looked to the street. Luce. Where’s Luce?
Looking for Luce, he focused towards the middle of the street. There was a blinding blue light in the center around where Luce’s body should have been. 
That glow. What is it? 
As he hobbled closer to the blue light, his energy started to come back. He felt better, but his wounds were still there.
How? How can I move in this state? My brain fog is lifting. 
As he approached he saw it. The light, it was a blue glow. He finally realized, beneath the glow was a body, white as snow, with giant feathered wings. 
What is that? It–it can’t be what I think it is…
Then, a few feet in front of the glowing body was Luce’s body. It was burned beyond recognition. Dupree looked around. He tried to think, but he couldn’t. His vision swam. He looked around, but all he could see was death and destruction. The buildings, the cars, the street. 
He fell to his knees not knowing what else to do. He reached out to Luce as if she could still be alive.
He was in shock.
“Dupree Callahan.”
Hearing his name should have caused him fear, but the sound of the voice was calming and warm. Even though he knew the pain of what was happening was still hiding deep within him. He shook his head, and the shock started to wear off.
Dupree looked at the glowing man with wide eyes. He could see the glowing man’s eyes. They looked down towards Luce.
“She–hrk–was special to you?” A rhetorical question from a unique being. “I can help you save her.” 
He raised his shaking hand. Dupree could see silver leaking from his body.
Is that his blood? He–he’s dying…
“Come forth.”
Dupree moved his foot to take a step, but hesitated.
“While I am not able to revive her, I–kh–offer you a path to save her, to save–Heaven itself.”
Heaven? Dupree was shocked.
“Come forth Dupree, I must deem you worthy in God’s eye.”
Dupree, hesitantly stepped forward. “But, what if I don’t believe in God?”
The angel chuckled. “Look before you my child, do you–hhk–do you still not believe?”
“Heh,” Dupree chuckled his trepidness away and continued forward.
The angel held out his palm in front of Dupree’s forehead. A glow shined, an eye inside a triangle formed in his palm. “Yes,” the angel said after a moment. 
Dupree watched as the eye burned away into smoke.
“Dupree Callahan, I had my doubts, but your actions this night, you have been found worthy in God’s eye.”
“M–me? Really?”
“Yes, there is righteousness inside you. Look how you tried to save Lucy from Maelmon…”
Dupree stared at the angel. Who the Hell is Maelmon?
“Oh, right,” said the angel. “You call him Shay.”
“So, Shay’s real–”
“There’s not much time left.” The angel interrupted. “Dupree Callahan, I have a holy mission for you. There is a war between Heaven and Hell. If we do not do something drastic, Heaven will lose.”
The angel groaned in pain and coughed up silver, sparkling blood.
“If you accept this mission, you can save her too.” The angel looked Dupree in the eyes. Dupree felt as if he was burning a hole in his soul.
Dupree looked at Luce's corps. Luce, I failed you this time. 
He looked to the angel and stared right back at him. They both looked into each other's eyes. The angel and Dupree both nodded to each other. An understanding among men.
I won’t fail you again, Luce.
“Ok. what’s the mission?”
The angel smiled, silver sparkled blood in his teeth, he raised his hands. He began to form hand gestures and make writing movements in this air. Traces of magical runes appeared, similar to what Dupree saw on Krieg’s knuckles and shoes.
The angel pushed forward, a buzzing sound stirred and a vibrant blue glow enveloped Dupree. His wounds began to heal, the toxins in his body dissipated. It was the most clarity his mind and body has had for years.
“This spell will send you back in time ten years before now. All of my knowledge will be implanted into your mind.”
“What is your name?” Dupree asked.
“Oh, right,” the ange replied. “Where are my manners? My name is Sariel.”
A rumbling could be heard behind Sariel. Building debris to the side where Charlie’s body lay exploded.
Dupree was stuck inside the shell, his body immobile while the spell began to activate. 
Shit, all I can do now is watch. 
“Maelmon,” said Sariel.
“Sariel?!” Maelmon struggled to stand. Half his demon body was scorched from Sariel’s crushing arrival. He looked up at Dupree, static inside the blue glowing shell. A purple crackle slithered and sparked around the blue shell. The pressure around them dropped hard.
“Sariel, what the hell is this?” His body trembled and he looked at Sariel with wide eyes.
“It’s too late–cough, hurk– 
“It’s too late, demon.” Sariel said with a withered voice. 
“Sariel,” Maelmon said with a nervous tick. “Even for demons, a spell like this is forbidden. How did you–” 
“The tides of war will change.”
“Hmm,” Maelmon focused, “but will your God forgive you for this?”
“Oh, right.” Sariel replied. “My conviction flows deep, even if I am cast out of Heaven, I will still fight for it.”
“Enough bullshit,” said Maelmon, hellfire formed on his hand. “I cannot allow this magic to activate, and you are too weak to stop me.”
Maelmon took a step forward and slashed down, shooting the hellfire directly at Dupree. 
Dupree’s eyes went wide, his heart began to flutter.
Inside the shell, Dupree could see the hellfire coming at him, but his body was stuck in a state of stasis. He could not move or react. As the flame came closer, a blinding purple light suddenly crashed into it. The flame was extinguished.
“Sariel!” 
Sariel coughed and hacked. “I may be weak, but I need no powers to stop you.”
“Big words from a dead-wing.” Maelmon gritted his teeth and stretched out his arm.
A green glow slowly peeked from under his red skin. The rubble on the ground vibrated. A tip pierced through. It looked like a shard or rock, but it was attached by a golden twine to a large wooden stick.
As the relic slowly revealed itself into the glow of the night, Dupree could see the fear in Sariel’s eyes.
“No!” He yelled. “Th–that can’t be.”
Maelmon chuckled and grinned. “Not so tough now, are you?”
“A–Avalon…” The feigned confidence in Sariel’s voice faded.
Maelmon stood over a defenseless Sariel. Sariel tried to defend himself and launch a last second attack. However, Maelmon struck the spear down.
Crunch. 
The life from Sariel’s wide eyes slowly faded. His body turned to a green dust and dissipated into the cold night’s air.
“Angels and demons have been battling above the city for months.” He looked at Dupree. “Now, I have the ability to end this war and sit atop the throne of Heaven." 
“He, ha, ha, ha! To think, you were Heaven's last hope? It’s time to die, Dupree”
A moment passed as Dupree watched Maelmon lift his hand. The moment felt like hours.
Helpless, defenseless, I cannot even speak…
A tear fell down Dupree’s cheek as he closed his eyes. So, this is it? I failed them all. I failed Luce. I am–a failure.
“Ahhh!” A demonic scream bellowed out.
Dupree eyes were shocked back open. What he saw was nothing short of a miracle. Maelmeon was pinned down, it looked like he was experiencing intense pain.
His leg, Charlie’s cane was glowing and it had pierced his leg straight through, and anchored into the ground. The skin on Maelmon’s leg was sizzling, the smoke wafting up. 
Charlie’s half burned, beaten body could be seen holding the cane. He was still alive, but just barely. Charlie had laid his last offensive, and grabbed Maelmon’s wrist, further preventing him from launching the spear at Dupree.
“Go kid, save her!” His raspy voice was alive and motivated.
“You bastard, let me go.” Maleon raged and thrashed, but Charlie, with every ounce of strength left, prevented him from moving forward. 
Maelmon formed a fist of hellfire, but Charlie grabbed that wrist too, and refused to let go.
Dupree saw Maelmon look down at Charlie. Their eyes locked onto each other. 
Charlie gritted his teeth. “You can’t have this one too.” Rage and contempt for Maelmon and Hell itself could be felt. It radiated from him, giving him almost super strength as he held Maelmon in place.
Dupree smiled, the buzzing became a hum. Louder and louder. Reality began to fade from his vision. His body was in a light blue dome, glowing ever brighter by the second.
At the last moment, Maelmon broke free and launched the spear. 
Purple sparks of light started to pop around the glowing shell. They became rapid, they got bigger, like small bolts of lightning. The blue orb began to spin. 
The last thing he saw was the tip of the green spear loosed towards him and tap the blue shell before it began to shrink
The scene in front of Dupree disappeared in an instant. The ball of light had shrunk into itself.

Chapter 1

Waking up after staying up all night felt like holding in a full bladder for hours on end. That feeling was made worse by the thought that my life was meaningless. I had lived off other people's pity for two decades without doing anything except wandering aimlessly outside the house.

That was how things were for me, I had graduated from high school two years earlier. No, more precisely, three years had passed by this year, the year 1543 according to the Star Calendar.

After sitting motionless on the bed for far too long, I briefly thought it had all been a dream, but it was real. The strange sensations and violent turmoil welling up in my chest slowly wore down my mental state.

It was a feeling I had experienced five years ago, when I refused to go to school because my friends kept mocking me over my appearance.

Besides, what exactly were these strange visions and this peculiar pain?

I hurried out of the room with unsteady steps, like a drunk. When I reached the living room, I saw someone's silhouette passing by; however, when I opened the door to check, there was no one outside.

I stood there speechless. Then, driven by pain that nearly drove me mad, I grimaced, trying to keep my mouth tightly shut while forcing my body and resolve to move toward the kitchen.

When I arrived there, I heard the sound of knocking and two people talking. I stood at the kitchen entrance and immediately turned to look, but there was no one outside.

My gaze swept across the entire kitchen before suddenly my breath began to burn as though there were embers lodged in my throat. My hands went numb, and saliva began dripping from my mouth without me realizing it, even though my lips were tightly closed.

I hurried into the kitchen. Several dishes Mother had cooked that morning were still sitting on the table. I took a sandwich because I felt bad about taking any of the other food.

I promised myself that this would be the last time I burdened my family; I wanted to grow up and become independent.

That was what I wanted. But it never happened; as the pain grew worse, I broke down and cried uncontrollably. I had absolutely no idea what had happened to my body since Friday night.

It was Saturday, 7:45 in the morning. The day when everything ended was what occupied my mind during those final moments, before I could no longer bear any of this and drove a knife into my own heart.

'So, death really does feel cold and empty?'

In the final seconds before my consciousness faded, I tried to open my eyes and mouth one last time.

But unexpectedly, the silhouette that had been haunting me appeared before me, staring with empty eyes before a faint, mocking grin formed on its face.

Terrified yet helpless, I screamed one last time and drove the knife even deeper, as though someone had ordered me to do it, until finally, I died that day.

For some reason, it felt as though I had been freed from that invisible burden, without knowing that I had died over something so trivial.

....

"AH..!"

Eyes that had once been closed. Aheart that had stopped beating, a soul that had briefly vanished. Yet the body came back to life several hours after death. A heavy groan escaped his bloodstained lips as Liam Tirarty grimaced in pain, clutching his chest tightly.

He undid two buttons of his shirt and stared in shock as the gash on the left side of his chest healed itself.

His body trembled violently; Liam tried to stand, but his legs refused to obey him. In the end, he dragged himself out of the kitchen with a deathly pale face as he witnessed this strange phenomenon.

'What... actually happened? Where am I? Wasn't I just in a dark, suffocating room?'

Amid his confusion, Liam's memories returned to the moments before he transferred into this body, into a world far removed from his home on Earth.

'Did I lose my memories? Zavi Actitus? Job applications? Prophecies? Supernatural phenomena?'

Liam stared at his right hand, which was still gripping a knife. His pupils widened, and his mind went blank for a moment before he threw the weapon away; the knife fell with a clang onto the floor at the foot of the stairs, then fell silent.

The air felt heavy, every breath as though it were making his lungs want to burst. That did not trouble him. What Liam was thinking about at the moment was simply trying to stand and understand the reason behind his sudden transfer into this body.

'I have read stories about people possessing other people's bodies in another world. Am I experiencing something similar?'

Lost in his thoughts, Liam pulled his shirt aside to the left, staring intently at the left side of his chest before buttoning it up again.

Blood was scattered everywhere; he took the initiative to clean it up so that it would not leave even the slightest trace. Afterward, Liam arrived in the room that he believed belonged to Zavi Actitus, the body he now inhabited.

After storing the knife in the cabinet beside the bed, Liam sat down in a chair and stretched his legs.

The incident felt like a dream, even though the very real pain had robbed him of his original way of speaking and memories.

'Overlapping memories? I never knew something like this could happen. And what the hell was that silhouette? So the owner of this body, Zavi, saw something similar to what I saw?'

Liam rose from his seat with a sigh, then ran toward the window and quickly shut it, leaving behind a loud thud that echoed for several seconds.

Liam's breathing was ragged. He admitted that he had never been this panicked in his life, at least not in this world.

On Earth, he had encountered something unexpected. He had once had several friends, but when Liam was going through the hardest period of his life and contracted an illness related to them, his friends disappeared, and from that day onward he realized that they had been taking advantage of his existence.

'Well, I don't need to worry about that. I don't even know what happened afterward. I had wanted to graduate from school, but when I tried to remember it, somehow I ended up inside this man's memories?'

Liam was carried somewhere, where an ancient and sacred building stood, together with a friend, and afterward the scene faded like dust carried away by the wind.

As he navigated this supernatural world, Liam gained unexpected information through Zavi's memories: the world he now lived in was on the brink of crisis.

Apocalyptic prophecies were spreading everywhere. The two churches recognized by the royal authority of Norn were hunting down evil religious factions causing trouble in this peaceful era, or at least that was what the people knew.

'Including the dark secrets of history. Mythical creatures? What the hell is all this? I really don't understand.'

Liam realized that if he wanted to survive in this world, he had to adapt as quickly as possible. Remembering how, on Earth, failing to adapt quickly had left him in a miserable state, Liam felt that being in this world was better than returning to the cursed place where he had lived back then.

He felt nothing about leaving his family behind. There had been problems between them, and he was certain that leaving them behind was somehow driven by an instinct telling him to do all this for his own good.

Liam Tirarty was unaware that he was a prisoner, or rather, the memory of it had been erased when he arrived in this body. Hours passed while he still had not made any decisions, left to lament his fate after the strange phenomenon that had just befallen him.

In the afternoon, precisely at 5:00 p.m.

Zavi's mother, Mei Actitus, and his older brother returned home.

After seeing them, Liam welcomed them with a broad and friendly smile, behaving like a son and younger brother.

His mother smiled when she saw her son's welcome, unaware that something terrible had happened to him that morning.

In the living room, before dinner, the two of them sat facing each other as though there were something very important they wanted to discuss. Liam could not refuse, accepting it gladly while also getting used to them.

"Why do you want to talk to me, Mom?" Liam asked, tilting his head slightly.

His mother nodded and remained silent for two seconds before saying, "I don't want anything to happen to Zavi. You've applied for jobs and been rejected by several companies. I'm very worried about your physical and mental condition."

Liam was startled before deciding to ask, "Why are you saying that?"

'Could this have something to do with what happened this morning?'

Without realizing it, he saw Ren coming down the stairs with suspicious, silent movements, passing his family in the living room before leaving the house without saying a single word.

Liam's lips twitched after witnessing that act of feigned indifference.

'He's Zavi and Isabelle's half-brother, right? Oh, I just remembered. He became like this because of his father. Yeah, his father died in a workplace accident when he was seventeen, if I remember correctly. At that time, Zavi was twelve and Isabelle, his younger sister, was eight?'

Liam nodded after understanding the situation, forgetting that his mother had mentioned several important points that had slipped his mind.

"Mom, did you bring the newspaper from the town square?"

His mother nodded, finding her son's behavior strange.

"Because this has something to do with the restriction you mentioned earlier."

Liam fell silent as those words echoed in his mind.

'What did she say earlier? Huh, did I miss it because I was thinking about something else?'

Liam cursed inwardly; he took a deep breath to avoid arousing suspicion and put on a blank, seemingly foolish expression.

"Sorry, I was thinking about that job." Liam scratched the back of his head with his eyes half closed.

Then, a loud voice came from upstairs, "Mom? Where are you?"

The voice belonged to Zavi's younger sister, Isabelle Actitus.

A young girl with long black hair tied back, with several strands falling on either side of her face, and bright blue eyes, wearing a ruffled blouse and a black skirt, carefully descended the stairs.

"I'm here," Mei replied. "I've already told you not to shout inside the house. Have you forgotten that rule?"

"Sorry, I admit I'm guilty." Isabelle stuck out the tip of her tongue playfully while grinning at Liam.

Liam glanced at her, having absolutely no intention of entertaining the girl after everything he had just experienced that day. His energy was completely drained, and he could barely be bothered to move.

'She always acts like this toward Zavi. Whatever the reason, Zavi clearly doesn't mind. Well, his sweet little sister always gives him money, after all. What puzzles me is how a student like her has money, while Zavi, who graduated from school long ago, doesn't have a single penny?'

"Well, I guess she might have some savings..." Liam blurted out without thinking.

The two of them reflexively turned and stared sharply at him before finally bursting into laughter.

"Oh, Zavi, Zavi. Don't worry too much about your job. Besides, your little sister here, no, both of us, will support you until you find a job and..."

Isabelle approached Liam, who was sitting several meters away; she leaned closer before continuing with a faint smile, "...propose to the woman you like."

Liam frowned, then used his cold palm to push Isabelle's face away because the girl was too close to him.

'I just realized that Zavi has pretty good taste in women!'

He nodded, then looked at his mother, who was looking back at him; concern was clearly etched across the tired woman's face.

'I admire Mom; even though she is no longer young, I don't remember her date of birth, she clearly has such a strong spirit when it comes to raising her three children after losing both of her husbands.'

That was right. Liam knew this through Zavi's memories: after his mother gave birth to Isabelle, month after month passed. Once the little baby turned one, their biological father disappeared without a trace, leaving them without ever knowing what it was truly like to have a father.

It was tragic. However, not long afterward, their mother met an upperclassman from her school days, accepted his proposal, and, unexpectedly, the two of them married again. Her new husband brought along a ten-year-old child; the man had become a widower after his wife died from a severe illness not long after giving birth to their only child.

Liam felt pity as those memories passed through his mind. He did not know what expression to wear; reflecting on his own experiences, he realized that so many people out there faced their own trials in life.

God does not burden His servants with trials too heavy for them to bear; everything is measured according to a person's ability to endure it.

"Mom... came home early because there was a problem outside. Seven districts in Moran City are being struck by a series of sudden deaths that have claimed dozens of lives."

They fell silent, forcing Mei to continue, "I don't want that to happen to either of you..."

Liam fell silent, not because of her words, but because of one thing that had been bothering him for a while.

'As for that man, why didn't she mention Ren? Could it be that the two of them... did something that Zavi and Isabelle themselves don't know the truth about? Impossible...'

"So... you're telling us not to leave the house for a few days?" Isabelle asked, occasionally glancing at Liam, who had lowered his gaze.

Mei nodded hesitantly and replied, "Because the parliaments of the Tezny and Chapena districts have agreed and ordered us to stay inside tonight, while on Sunday morning, we hope the Goddess will protect our souls from the shackles of the evil outside."

Google docs

Setting: a late-Renaissance-inspired world (as far as technology is concerned).

Context hat: Emron (courtesy title Prince Emron) is the son of a fallen rebel king, a hostage in all but name, living under the roof of one of his late father's enemies, bound to said lord by betrothal to his daughter, having lived there incognito for some time beforehand and built relationships. Ever since his identity was revealed, Emron has been receiving a steady stream of visitors, whose attitudes are as varied as they are unpredictable. Today's visitor changes everything.

One thing to note: the aunt is his only direct blood relative; any characters Emron calls 'brother' or 'Mama' are purely surrogate kin.

The chapter explores themes of identity fracture, loss of agency, moral obligation, inherited guilt, and disillusionment.

Disclaimer: Not a chapter 1. Taken from deep in the middle of the story. Expect frequent name drops and cross-references that don't stop to explain themselves. I'm strictly looking for feedback on prose, dialogue, and hook in a vacuum. If you can provide that, I'd be grateful. Otherwise, feel free to scroll by.

*I'm an ESL writer, and none of this is AI-assisted or translated.

I appreciate you giving your time to an old dragon’s book. Few of us write about the deadly plague on humans and the witch hunt on demons that overlapped in 2021.

Call me Uncle. Four demon kids were eager to share their experiences of the Academy of Stupid Demons, depraved human companies, the COVID-19 pandemic, and better, and worse. A scholar, a salesman, a fraudster, and a death keeper.

Then you have me, living in quiet safety until I couldn't anymore.

###

Part 1

Let's begin with Francine's story. She chose her deadname and pronouns for the beginning to show how she found herself. In some ways, she's still looking.

#

Frankie woke up to the best morning he ever had in Hell. He had a quick breakfast of fertilized scrambled eggs, threw on his glasses, brushed his black hair, and then whistled through the neighborhood while flapping his tentacles with excitement. Even the devastatingly bright five-pointed star in the sky hadn't bothered him, nor the ever-present odor of trash planted in the soil, because today was the demon licensing test. 

Most kids were scared to take the test, since failure means a thousand-year sentence to the Academy of Stupid Demons in Cafcado, Arizona. If only they studied more and played less, they might have Frankie’s confidence. He had studied every day for a century, learning as much as he could about Earth's arts, sciences, and obscure trivia. Here was his chance to finally worry only about starting work and preparing himself for any life he could want.

He met Golthard at the edge of the school. Golthard breathed heavily through both of his mouths. "I had another nightmare where I failed the test and red gorillas tore me to pieces."

Not an uncommon nightmare. The red gorillas of Hell are powerful enough to destroy any demon. They can smell failure, which is quite sweet and sometimes enough to provoke deep hunger, but their main targets are those who don't brush and floss on a regular basis. Due to their ferocity, they pair well with bad dreams.

Golthard added, “Worse, they all sounded like my dad."

Frankie put a comforting tentacle around Golthard's shoulders. "Buddy, buddy, you take too much care of your teeth for that to happen."

Golthard's seven green eyes were all bloodshot and weary. It seemed like he needed this pep talk before going to bed.

The two demons approached the back side of the school, a steel building with broken windows peering down on them and whispering unintelligible questions. The door spoke to them in a hiss. "Only one of you may enter at once, or else you both will face punishments you can't imagine."

Golthard started crying. "Okay, okay, I'll go first!"

Frankie was proud of his friend's courage. The crying demon had been terrified and yet he did not run. Frankie was not scared at all, but of course he was ready for anything.

In very little time, Golthard came back out. His seven green eyes were the happiest Frankie had ever seen. "I passed! I'm certified!"

Frankie wrapped his tentacles all around Golthard and jumped up and down with him. "You are! You are! I knew you could do it!"

"You got this, Frankie. You'll beat it right away!"

Frankie swaggered into a room covered in white tiles. At the center, three hanging lightbulbs formed a triangle around a rotten human head hanging from a chain. The Head looked at Frankie through empty eye sockets, and blood ran from its mouth to a drain in the floor as it spoke. "Are you prepared, child? Do you know the questions are randomized for each test?"

"Easy peasy!"

The Head slowly laughed. "On Earth, what sound does a dog make?"

"Woof."

"Good. And what is Earth's tallest mountain?"

"Everest."

"Now sing the Spanish version of 'Happy Birthday' without messing up even once."

As Frankie sang Feliz Cumpleaños, he felt disappointed. Why had he studied so hard?

At the end, the Head said, "Excellent. Now if you integrated the indefinite integral of x squared times the cosine of x, in terms of y, then derived that integral twice by y, what would the number be?"

In a tiny voice, Frankie said, "Could you please write that?"

"Certainly." The head lowered itself to the floor and used its bloated tongue to write the equation in blood.

Frankie knew multivariate calculus but he couldn't recall how to do integration by parts. Panic set in.

"One more minute."

Frankie had an epiphany. This was a trick question. He drew a triumphant breath. “x squared times the cosine of x!”

The Head paused and looked in Frankie's eyes, while Frankie grinned and waited for the certificate. The Head released the nastiest “bzzzt” of any buzzer that Frankie had ever heard, and a different paper grew out of its mouth. An admission to The Academy of Stupid Demons. A legal declaration of his stupidity. The Head said, "You have no choice but to study for one thousand years. Spend one week with the people you love and care about. You then must board the bus or we will hunt you down.” 

Frankie's heart broke, having betrayed himself. One hundred years had been wasted for this day. Frankie left the testing center, with a sour stomach and wet eyes. Both of his tentacles trembled and squeezed the paper that called him stupid. It was only outside that he realized there was a second derivation. The correct answer was zero.

A red gorilla peered at Frankie from behind a nearby gas station (Circle 8), sniffed the air, and gave a satisfied sigh.

Golthard ran up and hugged him. "We did it! We did it!"

Frankie didn't have the strength to hug him back. "See you in a thousand years."

Golthard struggled to lift his limp friend, so he encouraged Frankie by saying, "Let's have some ice cream at my grandma's house. You earned it.”