Cosmic green hands stretched and snapped across the inky sky, and held the land in a bind of enchantment. While the tendrils and waves reflected wonder in the eyes of ordinary citizens, it evoked horror within the Scholars.
Days, now. Days. They repeated over and over.
As the sun’s flares raged across the universe, they sapped the magical lifeblood from the bones of the city; the ultimate summoning stone to the ultimate harborer.
“When will it come back?” Had been the endless question.
“I don’t know,” was the reply. “I don’t know.”
About the Creator
S. C. Almanzar
I am a graduate student studying anthropology and have been writing creatively for almost 20 years. I love new takes on alternative history, especially when there are fantasy or supernatural elements included.
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More stories from S. C. Almanzar and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Descending the Mountain
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Long ago, there were monsters that roamed the frozen land and terrorized the rest of creation. Hulking, insatiable beasts with trap-like jaws for crushing and claws for ripping apart anything unlucky enough to be within each. The dragons had arrived soon after those monsters and intended to make the Valley their home as well, but the bloodlust that overtook their equals became unbearable to their gentler nature. The dragons took flight as their wings enabled them to like no other beast could. They knew we were up there in the mountains, hiding in caves and surviving on melted snow and any scraps we could find.
By S. C. Almanzar4 years ago in Fiction
Silken Chains
Silhouettes of the female form were given flesh and bone. Silken skin glistened under the spotlight. Dry ice rose around our Icons as they danced atop their podiums in the Square. Heralded for their beauty, their movements were slight, powerful, and sensual.
By Paul Stewart7 days ago in Fiction
A Mother’s Fight: The Night Her Children Vanished
It was a quiet Thursday night when Maya Fernandez first noticed something was wrong. Her apartment, usually alive with the soft breathing of her children, Lucas (7) and Ana (5), was silent. The faint ticking of the wall clock sounded unnervingly loud. Maya’s heart thudded in her chest as she called out their names, her voice trembling: “Lucas? Ana?” No answer. A cold dread filled her chest. She rushed to their rooms—empty beds. Toys scattered, blankets tossed aside—but the children were gone. Panic surged, her hands shaking as she dialed her husband’s number. No answer. Her mind raced. Where could they be? Was this a random act of violence? Or something far more calculated? She knew instinctively: time was critical. Maya ran to the window, scanning the quiet streets below. Nothing. The city seemed asleep, indifferent to her terror. Every passing second stretched like an eternity. She grabbed a flashlight and retraced her children’s steps from earlier in the evening. Every corridor, every alley, every familiar corner became a potential clue. And then—a faint sound. A tiny giggle, almost swallowed by the night air. Maya’s pulse jumped. Could it really be them? She followed the sound cautiously, heart racing. The trail led to a small playground behind her apartment complex. The swings moved gently in the wind, casting long shadows under the dim streetlights. There they were: Lucas and Ana, huddled together, eyes wide with fear. The relief was instant, but fleeting. A shadow moved just beyond the glow of the lamppost. Someone had been watching, someone who knew her family’s routines intimately. Maya scooped them into her arms, tears streaming down her face. She whispered promises she had been clinging to all night: “You are safe now. I will never let anything happen to you.” The next morning, Maya began piecing together what had happened. She realized that the person who had taken her children was someone close, someone who knew their lives well. The betrayal cut deeper than the fear itself. Maya refused to be paralyzed by dread. She contacted the authorities, installed cameras, and enlisted the help of neighbors. Her relentless vigilance gradually unveiled small but crucial clues: strange phone calls, unrecognized visitors, and inconsistencies in stories she had once trusted. Every discovery brought renewed hope—and renewed fear. She knew the perpetrator was still out there, watching, waiting. Weeks passed. Maya’s efforts never wavered. She traveled to nearby towns, speaking to anyone who might have seen her children. She studied patterns, questioned strangers, and followed leads that seemed trivial but often proved essential. One late evening, she received a tip from a local shopkeeper—a child matching Lucas’s description had been seen near an abandoned warehouse. Maya’s heart raced. She didn’t hesitate. Alone, she drove there, her children’s voices echoing in her mind. The warehouse was empty, but in a hidden corner, she found a small blanket and a toy that belonged to Ana. Her hope surged. She was close. She could feel it. Finally, after months of searching, Maya located the children in a distant neighborhood, living under the watch of someone who had planned to keep them hidden. The reunion was overwhelming. Tears, laughter, disbelief, and sheer relief collided as Maya embraced her children, refusing to let go. Though safe, the ordeal left lasting scars. Maya became hyper-aware, cautious, and protective—but also stronger, braver, and more determined than ever. The experience taught her a profound lesson: love can push you beyond fear, doubt, and exhaustion. Her story spread through her community, inspiring other parents to trust their instincts and fight tirelessly for their children. For Maya, the memory of that night remains vivid—the fear, the despair, but ultimately, the triumph of unbreakable maternal love. Even years later, she reflects on that terrifying night, reminding herself and others: hope can endure even in the darkest hours, and sometimes a mother’s courage is the most powerful force in the world. Disclaimer: This story is inspired by documented real-life parental struggles and emotional suspense cases, but all names, locations, and personal identifiers have been fictionalized for privacy and storytelling purposes. Certain events and dialogue have been adapted for narrative engagement, while maintaining the essence of a mother’s determination and emotional journey. This article is intended for entertainment, inspiration, and human-interest reading, not as a legal or investigative report.
By Baseer Shaheen 5 days ago in Fiction
Top tipple tricks
Been thinking a lot about drinking, lately. Not least because of a recent episode of over-indulgence and the inevitable after effects. Some readers may recall the earlier articles I wrote about beating the booze. Here I set out an experiment in techniques for cutting down on my alcohol intake. The experiment was successful, the techniques worked, and I have armed myself with an arsenal of weapons in the war against the demon drink. I have yet to fire the first round however. It's all a question of timing (perhaps procrastination).
By Raymond G. Taylor4 days ago in Psyche
Comments (1)
Wow, your work is so thrilling!!!!