Kael Vryn stood alone at the edge of the shattered canyon, his breath clouding in the icy air. The horizon burned crimson as the sky split apart, tearing the world in half. Behind him, the ruins of his home city smoldered, its once-proud towers reduced to ash and rubble. Before him, the Voidborn Legion swarmed like a tidal wave of living darkness, their forms shifting and writhing, barely holding to any coherent shape.

He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword—a blade forged from the heart of a fallen star. It was a relic of an age long past, its power waning, just like the hopes of the people who had entrusted him with their survival. He was all that remained of the Knights of Solstice, the last line of defense against an enemy that no mortal army could defeat.

Kael swallowed hard, his heartbeat a drum in his ears. The odds were beyond impossible. The Voidborn were endless, a horde that consumed entire civilizations in their march across the cosmos. He was one man, broken and weary, armed with a weapon whose light flickered like a dying ember.

But he couldn’t stop. Not now. Not ever.

(Real-life story)

Ahmed was a quiet and shy boy. One day at school, the teacher made a comment during class: “A manager needs to have a strong personality.” To make his point, the teacher gave an example, saying, “Ahmed could never be a manager because he’s too shy.”

Ahmed didn’t respond; his shyness held him back.

Fast forward 10 years, Ahmed’s life took a turn. After graduating from school and joining university, he gained independence and the freedom to work on himself. He developed new skills, built confidence, and transformed his personality.

Even though years had passed, Ahmed still remembered his teacher’s words, even though the teacher had likely forgotten them. Instead of being discouraged, Ahmed used them as motivation. He worked tirelessly to prove himself, overcoming challenges and sharpening his abilities.

Today, Ahmed is a successful manager at a one of the great organization at his country. As for the teacher? He remains in the same role, teaching students.

Ahmed’s journey is a testament to resilience and self-belief, proving that with hard work, you can turn criticism into success.

“I don’t need your fucking money” Billy throws a stack of cash back at Joe Collie just as he was about to leave.

He stagers from the bar stool to Joe Collie’s face, away from the half glass of Burgundy he’d been drinking.

“You took from me….” He says, staring, droopy-eyed, directly at Joe Collie” You stole from me Joe.. you took him from me”

“Listen, Billy, you should head on home don't even wor_”

“Ohhh…To hell with that !” he shouts interrupting Joe.

“I am his father, Not you, me!”

the whole bar fell silent, no chitchat could be heard. Every pair of ears was tuned to Stapolton’s Tennessee whiskey blasting from the FM radio and the words that fumbled out of Billy's mouth.

Neither man broke their laser focus from the other's eyes Billiy’s was that of a man possessed with conviction while Joe’s remained an enigma throught the encounter.

“See I don't want my son…hm, My boy, I don't want him, near you”

Joe forces out a smile which he hides with his palm. Every time he looks at the droopy old drunk standing crooked gazing daggers at him he can't help but smile. The same was the case for Billy, once he noticed the smile he couldn't help but do the same. It was visceral, like two dogs showing teeth before a fight.

“You say you know me”

“Yes” Billy responds

“ really know me, Billy Do you?”

“ yes I do…yeah”

“ I don't believe you because look at where you are Look at where you are standing right now”

“Ha ha ha “Billy bursts laughing at Joe Collie’s remarks. His posture stiffens even more his eyes veer off to the side then back at Joe Collie who is now also chuckling at the sight of Billiys amusement.

“Big man now. Huh The big bad. Yeah? I do know you, Joe, I've known you since back when snot dripped to the side of your lip”

“You did ?” he asks with a wider smile than before

“ I did, Joe, I did”

the tension between them was thick, no one could think of uttering a single word. They were at each other's throats with their gaping teeth ever so present.

“your son ohh god How did I forget” The smile fades from Billiys expression his hands twitch with frustration “Honestly, how did I forget”

“He started all this right The catalyst”

“Don't you fu_”

“Or what!” he interrupts

“ you have no power over me or him,” he says looking down at Billy as his anger bubbles to the surface.” Isn't he the breadwinner now”

Billy’s hand shoots through the air, landing a hard slap across Joe's cheek. Joe staggers back, eyes wide. For a moment, both men freeze, locked in a shared shock. Then, like a flipped switch, they lunge at each other.

Billy swings wildly, his fists uncoordinated and heavy, fueled more by rage. Joe dodges most of the blows, ducking to the side as Billy’s knuckles graze his ear. With a sharp grunt, Joe steps in close, driving a fist into Billy’s jaw with a sickening thud. Billy stumbles back, dazed, but manages to throw a sloppy punch that lands on Joe’s ribs.

Joe grimaces, but doesn’t hesitate. With a quick motion, he grabs Billy by the collar, yanking him off balance, and slams him onto the bar floor. The sound of Billy’s body hitting the ground reverberates through the silent bar.

“Don't make me dirty my shoes Billy” he says while standing on top of him, both men panting.

He throws the money back at Billiys face

“ Poison yourself, buy the misses a new bra I don't give a fuck” he stares down at Billy” Just don't let me see those teeth again”

Joe then leaves Billy on the bar floor bruised.

WHUMP. The box hits the table with an alarming thud, causing a cloud of dust to rise from the rickety piece of furniture. Pedro, AKA Water boy, switches on the basement light, which hangs just above us, emitting a dim glow. I feel like I’m in an interrogation movie scene. Karmi, AKA Toothpick, drags one of the wooden chairs from across the room and slams it down across from me. She hops onto it, the legs creaking beneath her, not because she’s heavy, quite the opposite, but because of how ancient half the stuff down here is. She flips her Dodgers baseball cap around and gives me a wicked grin. I am so dead. Merlin, AKA Regular Joe, stands up on the plastic picnic bench we used to use for games such as these, though it no longer feels like a game. A drop sheet cape is draped over his shoulders, and he holds a wooden spoon from the kitchen as his microphone. A paper crown stands up on his blond curls. “Ladies and gentledudes! Come one and all to see the final showdown of the summer games!!!” He announces, and the rest of the gang, including Glue stick, Pumpkin, Bond James, and Jackhammer, all gather around me and Toothpick, eager to watch the bloodshed. Water boy opens the box and pulls out a single deck of cards and the Tupperware container of Monopoly money from Jackhammers old game (which his dog, bulldozer, destroyed) and sets them before us. Jackhammers takes the box and rips it in two. I flinch. “The last match of the series, to settle the long lasting beef of ‘is Toothpick just a little girl and should she go home to play with dolls’, will be decided by the worlds best game, drumroll please…” Everyone drums their legs. Jackhammer pounds his chest like an ape. “Poker!!!” For context, none of us know how to play poker because when we asked pumpkin’s dad to tell us, he said we were too young to be playing such games and wouldn’t let us use the computer to search it up. So they made their own rules. Key word there is ‘they’. I don’t know how to play Poker. Real poker or ‘The gang Poker’. “Chosen by last round’s champion… Toothpick!!!” And of course she chose the game I didn’t know how to win at for the tie breaker. Her eyes narrow at me from across the table. She has been planning this revenge ever since last year at camp when I said the words that sealed my fate. A game of tackle football ball, in which Toothpick wanted to participate. Anyone who has ever met toothpick knows not to call her a little girl, regardless of the fact that she’s the shortest in her grade and it’s a perfect description. Little punk, yes. Feisty girl, appreciated. But those two words next to each other were simply recipe for disaster. I dug my own grave telling her to go home and play with dolls. I want to pummel younger, stupider me. Water boy deals us each five cards. I pick up my hand, but Regular Joe swats my hand with the wooden spoon. “No picking up your cards until I say go! Penalize him!” Water boy takes away one of my one hundred dollar bills and gives it to Toothpick. She gives me a victorious look, as though she has already won. “Go!” Shouts Regular Joe, and we both pick up our cards. Toothpick knocks the table three times and puts two one hundred dollar bills into the middle. Regular Joe smacks my hand with the spoon again. “Failure to raise the bet! Penalize him!” I throw my hands up in the air. “I don’t even know the rules! It’s not fai-“ Regular Joe cuts me off with a loud, “No talking allowed! Penalize him!” He is having too much fun with this. Water boy takes a five hundred dollar bill and gives it to Toothpick. She plays down a seven of hearts. I play my six of clubs. I anticipate the wooden spoon seat and dodge it. “Penalize him!” Regular Joe shouts. Jackhammer cheers every time I do something wrong. Which is very often. It does not take long before I am down to my last hundred. It sits on the table in front of me like a pale, dead leaf. Toothpick rests on a pile of my money, smiling ever so insincerely. I still have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I was fooling myself to think I could win. I see Regular Joe winding back on his spoon swat. Again. This is not how I want to lose, I think. Before the words ‘Penalize him’ can leave his lips, I stand up and slap my hand down on the table. “I submit!” I yell, looking directly at my not very inviting host. He stops mid swing. I look over at my opponent. No. My friend. “Toothpick…” I start, then rethink my sentence. “Karmi, I was wrong. I’m sorry I called you a little girl. You’re a whole lot tougher than me, that’s for sure. A lot smarter, a lot better at most stuff. I… I just didn’t want to invite you to play football because I… I knew you’d show me up. Which is kind of embarrassing. So I tried to hurt your feelings instead. And that’s not what friends do. I accept that you are my superior, and ask only that you forgive me.” I hold out my hand across the table. The whole room is silent. “Please…?” I add, because she’s just staring at me and I’m terrified she will say no. I stand she grans my outstretched hand and pulls me around the table into… a hug? I stare at her, then at the rest of the gang. Water boy gives me a wide-eyed shrug. This is the weirdest hung I have ever witnessed since my birth. Regular Joe seems speechless for someone who so often has something to say. Finally, she steps back and looks me dead in the eyes. “If you think this means you escape your ultimate judgment, you are so wrong,” she says, grinning at me. But it’s a nice grin. A happy grin. Regular Joe regains his composure and shouts, “And now our grand loser shall be hosed down by Bond James’s Dad!” Everyone shouts their excitement, and a couple are still staring at Toothpick and me. They chant ‘get the hose’ all the way up the basement steps. Toothpick looks over at me. “Good to have you back, Mud pie,”

Alice sat down on the bathroom floor, a place she unfortunately knows all to well. It’s cold, as always. But this is the first time the temperature of a frequently visited place felt like an avalanche of expectation.

“I’m pregnant.” Alice wispered it to herself, but she needed to say it out loud to make it real.

Just that day, Alice kicked her worthless alcoholic, drug addicted husband to the curb, for hopefully the last time. She has no family. No means of transportation or income. There is no support for Alice. To some it may seem like a no brainer, Alice lives in a state where there is easy access to abortion. But she wants this baby.

It seems impossible with the lack of support, shelter, income, family, friends, the list goes on and on. From the outside, she has nothing. But what is impossible for some, is an opportunity for others.

Alice, again, whispers to herself, “I have no choice.” From that day forward, she knew of her strength to be a good mother. She had herself, and her child, and that’s all she needed. Impossibility is a mindset and Alice has always shifted to optimism.

This is the test, will the impossible become possible for Alice?

“𝖢𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗎𝗉 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋."

//\

"𝟣𝟢-𝟦 𝖣𝖾𝗅𝗍𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌."

//\

"𝖣𝖾𝗅𝗍𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗇!."

-----/// "𝘄𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗿𝘂𝗻!!"

"𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸-" ----/\

"𝖲𝖺𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝖾 𝖩𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖣𝖾𝗅𝗍𝖺 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝖺𝖽."

"𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗐𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗎𝗉?."

"𝖶𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗂𝖾𝗋,."

//----////

"𝖢𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗐𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖴𝗄𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗎𝗉."

(𝟣𝟢♥ 𝕎𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕦𝕡 𝕠𝕣 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝔻𝕖𝕝𝕥𝕒 𝕤𝕢𝕦𝕒𝕕 𝕓𝕖 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕃𝕖𝕥𝕤 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕦𝕥) (𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝙌𝙪𝙚𝙚𝙣)

{𝙃𝙪𝙜𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙛𝙖𝙣 𝙗𝙖𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙣𝙤 𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙖 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙣 𝙞𝙣 𝙐𝙠𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙩 𝙗𝙖𝙣 𝙢𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙡𝙯}

The arena is my stage, and a sword is my prop. At least, for today that is.

A sea of vibrant coats roar from the stadium, banners fluttering with provincial pride. I even see a few Valken’s in the far back, cheering for me. I wave, and they cheer louder.

Most days the arena is empty, say for the few students who are given clearance to spar here. But today isn’t most days. It’s the damn winter solstice. And I sure as hell plan on making it out alive.

Ten students, each with different colored armor plates stand at their base, swords in hand. A green-clad girl I don’t recognize hangs her head low, trembling. I don’t think it’s the cold that’s got to her.

Every year, the best students of each province from the graduating class of Quarstias academy put on what our professors call a show.

We’re chosen weeks prior, and don’t train in refining our combat or agility. We were chosen because we’ve already mastered it. Instead, we’re trained in the dramatics. How to draw blood without killing. Though, if someone ends up dying in the hands of a blood thirsty student, it would make more of an eventful night.

The scribes begin recording. The nobles keep an eye on their province. Lord Knott scowls at me and the purple crest we share. Not even he has hope in me. Not when half the people in this arena want me dead.

The announcer blows the horn, and it takes everything I have to rip my legs off the thick mud and run.

To my left, red and blue seem to have made a pact, taunting the girl in green.

To my right, Finn strides towards me, parting the way of young soldiers. No one wants to initiate a fight with him.

"Mel," he taunts, sword unsheathed. Screw theatrics; I maintain distance.

“Running away, again?”

At that, I freeze.

His long finger traces his scar from his temple to his neck, a scar that speaks of the pain I inflicted. Though I didn’t mean to harm him, my actions did. And he has made sure he strike back for years. Once, guilt lingered, but now it tastes of bitter hatred.

“I think it’s time I repay the favor.”

I grip my sword defensively, matching his strides forward. This is really happening.

He’s the first to strike, swinging the sword just a hair away from my torso. To the people in the audience, it looks like a mistake. To me, a taunt.

I plunge my sword towards his chest plate and he staggers back, but not nearly far enough.

“If I didn’t have a chest plate, that would surly be a fatal blow” he says, swinging his sword. I dodge

“Good.”

We exchange attacks, building up the tension as even other fighters catch weary glances.

I have to remind myself it’s not about winning, or who walks out the bloodiest. It’s all a show, and he’s playing into the dramatics like a performer.

I throw jabs to his right and he dodges every time, stepping closer and closer.

The horn is blown twice. Two more minutes.

Tightly grabbing the sword, I swing at his feet and he falls to his knees. Just as quickly, he gets back up and knock the sword out of my hand with a kick to my knuckles.

That’s not fair, I want to say. But it is. We’re trained with swords, but I’ll be damned if punches aren’t thrown.

I stumble to get my sword back, careful not to turn my back on Finn. I grab it by the edge and drag it towards me.

“Careful. You’ll cut yourself” Finn says.

“Careful” I mimic. “I can cut you.”

He frowns. “You already have.”

I look towards his scar and back at his eyes. Then, I get back up and continue the fight.

The horns blown once.

“Is there anything you can do besides grazing my armor? This performance must be getting quite boring” I say as he lunges his sword forward, blocked by mine.

“There is. Though not much you would enjoy.”

I glance at the crowd, the king, all awaiting our next move. So does Finn, and then he swings his sword beneath my feet, mimicking my earlier move.

I roll away, but his boot pins my hair.

I’m dead. Deader than dead. And what a humiliating death this would be.

“Say” he whispers, so only I can hear. “How grand is your will to live?”

I kick forward. “You’ve seen.”

“So I have.”

And when the final horn in blown, I clench my hands around the sword he steps on, prepared to go down with a fight.

But instead of bringing the sword down, he nicks my ear and…smiles?

“Till the next sparring” he says.

Walking towards the exit with bloodied and bruised rivals, I count ten. None are dead.

The crowds cheer, the king smiles, and our professors will be glad to hear about the performance.

But all I can help thinking about is if Finn hadn’t taken up all my time, the others would have been ready to kill me.

I betrayed them after all. At least that’s how everyone sees it.

(Idk, this pompt was perfect for part of my story) Juno fell to her knees at Solomon’s side. This man, though he wasn’t related to her, had posed as a father figure for the last year. To see him dying was like a knife to her heart.

“Juno…”

She placed her sword down beside her, her eyes following the trail of blood that dropped down it.

“I know I should have told you sooner…but you looked so stressed every day that I just…I just couldn’t put the extra weight on your shoulders,” Solomon said, looking up at her with a sorry look.

“I can handle it,” Juno said in a whisper.

“I met you when you were four. I was there the day Thera fell. I helped your brother escape with you. I know who you are…I know what you are,”

Juno stared down at him. Her world had shifted then froze.

“You aren’t a simple nobody…you are Juno Noris, heir to the Theran throne, and bearer of the title-“

“The Storm Priestess…” Juno finished for him. That meant…holy gods…that meant the drunkard — no, the assassin that killed Sam…it hadn’t been an accident as he had said…it was a targeted attack. Solomon gave her a weak smile and said, “your parents were lovely people. And you were an adorable, sweet baby,”

This meant that not only was she responsible for the lives of the revolution’s troops, but of Thera. The people were her responsibility. But, how could she manage going against the King of Oraria. It was impossible.

What has it all amassed to The work, The pain.

If you have to earn an empire, Then what have I learned? Am I not deserving?

Is there no meaning?

When I was younger I felt so certain of life. Of death too. I didn’t fear it, Because I never imagined it might touch me and you.

What am I doing with my time, The most precious resource of all, When others have more of it And have already gone so far?

I’ve been here awhile. Toiling, Waiting, Hoping that with improvement someone might notice me. But I’m a broken instrument that plays two notes. It’s a shame that you’ve already seen both.

Have you ever been in the backyard enclosed by a circle of your brothers? The feeling of anguish and despair as they close in on you knowing what is going to happen next. The unthinkable yet used to event in which the youngest brother always is the target. The normal wrestling match yet what I like to call “a beating” always happens when I’m caught off guard. I’m the youngest of 5 with the smallest arms and the shortest in height. There is no escaping the 4 of them as their muscular bodies get ready to pound me into the ground. I have to think quick on my feet and the only escape is to use one as a foot stool which in the end would only anger them more. There is no escaping this enemy.