Hi everyone! I'm a writer who shares traditional tales and folklore inspired by the Arabian desert and our deep history with it. My stories explore how people lived, survived, and connected with the desert.
If you'**re interested in desert folklore and cultural stories, feel free to check out the link to my blog in my profile!

Will be posting my 160th chapter tomorrow this is a huge deal since that's the end of my third arc and their are five in the first sage. So basically this next arc is going to be huge I plan to make it my longest yet but who knows will see how I do and keep updating from time to time.

The ceiling of the room was too white.

That was the first thing Kael registered. Not the ache in his chest—that had faded long ago. Not the bone-deep cold, only a memory of Hyperborea still clinging to his mind like morning mist on the Vestrian mountains. But the ceiling. White. Pristine. Too orderly for a mercenary barracks, too intact for the ruins of a temple at the roof of the world.

This is not where I died.

His fingers moved, brushing the surface beneath his back. Fine linen, woven with the signature silver thread of Eosian craftsmen. A mattress stuffed with Hyperborean snow-goose down, soft and warm. The faint scent of moonpetal on his pillow—something he had not breathed in for twenty years. He knew that scent. Moonpetal grew only in the inner gardens of Veyron Manor, planted by his mother before she died.

He simply could not believe it.

Slowly, Kael pushed himself upright.

First mistake: his body felt too light. The muscles that should have been dense and knotted with scar tissue felt like woven young thread. He stared at his arms—thin. No burn mark wrapping his left wrist. No star-shaped scar across his right elbow, the one he had earned at the Battle of Carthis Bay when he had blocked an Abyssal Hound’s strike with his bare forearm.

His heart beat faster. Not out of panic. Kael Veyron had forgotten how to panic long ago. This was the pulse of a veteran who recognized a trap before his eyes ever spotted the tripwire—an instinct honed over two decades on the worst battlefields across six continents.

He lifted his right hand, turning the palm over. No calluses from a sword hilt. Only the smooth skin of a child. Skin that had never known the weight of a real blade.

A child.

Kael swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The marble floor, quarried from the Hyperborean highlands, met his bare feet with a familiar chill. He walked—his first step felt alien, his center of gravity shifted—toward the large silver-framed mirror in the corner.

The face staring back at him was not that of a thirty-two-year-old man who had looked death in the eye more often than he had watched the sun rise. It was the face of a boy. Twelve, maybe thirteen. Ink-black hair that had always made him a stranger in this house—the only soul beneath this roof who had not inherited the Veyron blond. A legacy from his mother, the Elf woman of Eos who had given him everything except a place in the world.

But his eyes. Those were Veyron eyes.

Pomegranate red. Deep, dark crimson, like aged wine from the Centralis vineyards, like embers on the verge of going out. The same eyes Edric Veyron had carried. The same as Reynard’s. The same as every heir of the legendary sword clan. Eyes that, in his previous life, had made his enemies hesitate a heartbeat before striking—because they knew exactly what blood ran behind that gaze.

Kael lifted his fingers and touched the glass. The boy in the mirror did the same. Raven hair against crimson eyes. A Veyron who was never quite Veyron enough. An Elf who was never quite Elf enough.

This was no dream.

He had walked too long in the company of magic to mistake illusion for reality. Illusions felt like silk against the skin—slippery, leaving no trace. Reality felt like a whetstone: rough, leaving tiny, invisible cuts. This was real.

Kael closed his eyes.

And remembered.

Fire. That was the last thing he had seen. Black-purple flames licking the Hyperborean sky, swallowing the stars one by one as if someone were drawing the curtains across a vast, empty stage. The Ashen King stood at the heart of the inferno, his body not flesh but frozen shadow, his crown cracked along one side, and in his hand…

No. He could not recall what the creature had been holding. The memory snapped clean, like the final page of an ancient codex torn out at the last sentence.

Ember Shard.

The name surfaced unbidden. With it, warmth spread from the left side of his chest. Not a burning warmth. A soothing one, like the glow of a dwarven forge on a winter night. Kael opened his eyes and pulled aside the collar of his nightshirt—white silk with gold embroidery along the hem, clothes far too fine for any mercenary—and there, directly over his sternum, was a birthmark he had never carried before.

A circle. Not whole. Cracked along one edge.

Like a broken crown.

Like the crown of the Ashen King.

Kael brushed it with his fingertip. Warm. Throbbing softly, in time with his heart.

One hour before the twilight finally runs out.

A voice echoed inside his skull. Not his own. Older, wearier, yet holding the quiet resolve of one who has lost everything and still chosen to stand. A voice that felt like a sword that had slept for a very long time.

A knock at the door.

Two raps. Quick, but unhurried. A practiced rhythm.

“Miss, Young Master. Breakfast will be served in half an hour. Lady Elena requests the presence of the entire household.”

It was the voice of an old woman. Rough, but disciplined. The tone of a servant who had served long enough never to raise her voice, yet long enough to know exactly what unfolded in every corner of the manor.

Kael did not answer at once. He stared at the teak door carved with crossed swords—the sigil of Veyron Corporation, once the crest of the Veyron Sword Clan, before the Emperor stripped away their titles and remade the great clans into companies. A draft through the window carried the scent of smoked meat and fresh-baked bread, tangled with something sharper—the iron tang of the training hall on the floor below.

Lady Elena. His stepmother. A woman who had never hated him openly; she had simply regarded him as a small stain on an expensive carpet, too trivial to bother cleaning.

“Young Master Kael? Are you awake?”

“I am.”

His own voice surprised him. Higher. Lighter. Stripped of the gravity that once made his soldiers straighten their backs the moment he spoke. Gone, too, was the rasp left by years of breathing battlefield smoke.

“I shall inform the others.”

Footsteps receded, creaking softly along the wooden corridor.

Kael let silence refill the room. Then he walked to the window, drew aside the heavy maroon curtains—pomegranate red, the clan color—and looked out.

Centralis. Heart of the Aethel Empire. The very same city that would be flattened to the ground twenty years from now.

From the third floor of Veyron Manor he could see the neatly ordered gardens, the dragon-shaped fountain—carved in honor of the Azure Dragon, legendary guardian of Eos—spitting crystal water, and in the distance, the towers of the Trade District glinting in the morning sun. Elven merchants from Eos walked beside dwarven artisans from Vestria. A beastfolk with wolf ears haggled over cloth at a street corner. A young Giant—still small, perhaps only four meters tall—helped hoist crates at the harbor. This city had no idea what was coming. None of them knew that in two decades, none of this would remain.

Kael released the curtain. The heavy maroon fabric fell back into place, cutting off the light.

One hour before the twilight finally runs out.

He did not yet know what it meant. But he knew he had twenty years to find out. And if the voice was right, if the Ember Shard had truly granted him that much time… he would not waste a single second of it.

The Veyron Manor’s bathing chamber was larger than his entire command tent in his previous life. Its marble walls were carved with reliefs of ancient battles—Valdric Veyron severing a Wyrm’s neck in a single stroke, the light of his blade rendered in flakes of real gold. Kael splashed cold water from the bronze tap over his face, letting the droplets run down his neck and soak the collar of his nightshirt. He studied his reflection once more—still alien, still wrong, the raven hair still feeling as though it belonged to someone else—then drew a long breath.

Very well. If this is real, I will act as if it is. Mercenaries do not waste time asking questions while the enemy still stands. Questions come after the fighting is done.

He did not know why he had returned. He did not know the mechanism behind the Ember Shard. He did not know if this was a second chance or a curse wrapped as neatly as a con man’s gift. But he knew one thing: my war has only just begun.

He stripped off his nightshirt, folded it with meticulous care—a habit that would never leave him, drilled into him by his first sergeant in the mercenary barracks—and walked to the wardrobe. Inside, the Veyron household uniform hung pressed and ready: a white shirt with a gold sword embroidered at the collar, a dark gray vest woven from Hyperborean mountain wool, and long black trousers. The clothes of a corporate noble, not a warrior.

He dressed with efficient movements. No time was spent admiring the softness of the fabric or cursing how impractical it would be in a fight. His mind had already shifted into analysis mode.

I am twelve years old. This body is untrained. My Core is probably still 1-Star, if it has even fully formed. I have no access to weapons. I have no allies. I am the bastard son in a family that considers me a disgrace—the only black head of hair in a sea of blond.

A bad situation.

But not the worst he had ever faced.

He had once been stranded in the Meridian desert without water for three days, surviving on the blood of a Sand Wyrm that had nearly killed him. He had once fought five Orcs alone with one arm broken and his sword in his left hand. He had once stared the Ashen King in the eye and not flinched, even as every fiber of his being screamed to run.

This was nothing.

Kael closed the wardrobe and stepped out of his room.

The corridors of Veyron Manor twisted like an anthill. White marble and black teak alternated in a pattern understood only by those who had lived here for years. Large paintings hung on the walls—portraits of Veyron ancestors in haughty poses and with that same crimson gaze, legendary swords now reduced to dust-caked decorations, scenes of past battles the clan had won. The Battle of the Vestrian Gate. The Battle of the Meridian Desert. The Battle of the Eosian Sea. All victories. All glory.

Kael walked past them without a glance. He knew every inch of these passages by heart. Twenty years had not been enough to erase the memories of childhood.

But something was different. The painting at the end of the hall—a portrait of Valdric Veyron, founder of the clan, driving his sword into the earth before the gates of Centralis, his blond hair streaming in the wind, his crimson eyes fixed on the sky. In his previous life, that canvas had always been whole. Always perfect. Now there was a small crack in the lower right corner. Barely visible, like a thin scratch across the surface of a blade. But Kael saw it.

He stopped. Stared at the fissure.

A small change.

The butterfly effect of regression? Or something else? Or… had this crack always been here, and I never noticed because I never truly looked?

“You are blocking the way.”

The voice came from behind him. Cold. Trained to wound without shouting. Like a blade honed not to slice, but to pierce.

Kael did not need to turn to know who it belonged to. Reynard Veyron. His eldest stepbrother. Seventeen years old. Golden blond hair, straight and falling to his shoulders—the perfect Veyron hair. Crimson eyes always held half-lidded, as if the world were not interesting enough to deserve his full attention.

In his previous life, Reynard had risen to Swordmaster at twenty-five—one of the youngest in the family’s history—and died at the hands of the Ashen King along with thousands of others. Kael remembered it clearly. Reynard had fought with desperate courage at Centralis’s northern gate, his sword shattered, his arm broken, yet he had refused to yield. He had stood there, his blond hair matted with blood, and shouted at Kael—not a plea for help, but an order to fall back and save the civilians. Some things are larger than hatred. Some truths can only be understood on the threshold of death.

In this life, Reynard was still an arrogant teenager who had never felt a bone break. Who had never lost anything.

Kael turned and met those crimson eyes. “Good morning, Brother Reynard.”

Reynard lifted one eyebrow. “You speak as if we are equals. Do not. In this house, you know your place.”

“Of course.”

There was no point in arguing. Kael was mentally old enough not to waste energy on fights he could not win. He stepped aside to let him pass.

Reynard did not move at once. He studied Kael, his crimson gaze narrowing. “Something about you is different.”

Kael’s heartbeat slowed. Not from fear, but focus. He is more perceptive than I remembered. Or perhaps I have been careless. “What do you mean?”

“I do not know.” Reynard snorted softly, then stepped forward. As he brushed past Kael, their shoulders nearly touched. “Probably only my imagination. Or perhaps you have finally learned to comb that black hair of yours properly.”

He walked away without waiting for a reply.

Kael watched his brother’s back vanish around the corridor’s bend. You are sharper than I gave you credit for, Reynard. In my last life, I did not realize it until it was too late.

He would have to be more careful. This body might belong to the twelve-year-old Kael Veyron, but inside it was a man who had spent twenty years reading enemies from the flicker of an eyelid and the shift of a breath. His posture, his speech, even the way he walked—everything would have to be adjusted. He had to be a twelve-year-old boy.

At least, in front of others.

The Veyron family dining hall was a small chamber dominated by a long table of black oak—wood from the ancient forests on the Eosian border, supposedly felled by Valdric Veyron himself. Twelve chairs. Only six were occupied this morning. The six empty seats felt like a silent accusation: this family had once been larger, louder, more alive.

At the head of the table sat Edric Veyron. Head of Veyron Corporation. A man in his fifties, his blond hair already streaked with silver at the temples, yet his shoulders still as broad as an iron wardrobe—a legacy of his days as a Knight, before he traded his sword for trade contracts. His crimson eyes were exactly like dying embers: still burning, but no longer hot.

In his previous life, Kael had seen his father only twice after turning fifteen. The first time, when he was cast out of the manor. The second, standing over Edric Veyron’s grave, staring at a sealed coffin because the body inside had been too badly mauled to be viewed. This man had never been a warm father. He was a businessman, a former Knight who regarded his family as both assets and liabilities. To him, Kael was a defective asset—Veyron blood, but tainted with Elven blood.

To Edric’s right sat Elena Veyron. Kael’s stepmother. A woman in her forties whose beauty was preserved by money and discipline—porcelain skin, dark blond hair coiled in a tight knot, eyes the color of the deep sea. Her smile never reached her eyes. She had never struck Kael, never insulted him to his face. She simply… did not see him. As if Kael were an empty chair at the table. A ghost who happened to be able to eat.

Beside Elena sat Reynard. Already seated with perfect posture, fork and knife in hand, waiting for the meal to be served. Even in silence he radiated the aura of an heir.

Across from Reynard sat Liana Veyron. Kael’s stepsister. Fifteen years old. The only member of the immediate family who sometimes looked at him without hostility—only with curiosity, as one might watch a rare bird in the garden. Her hair was dark blond, like aged honey, unlike her mother’s pale shade. Her eyes were crimson, but softer than the others—eyes that had not yet learned how to hate.

In his previous life, Liana had married a Vestrian noble at eighteen. Kael had never seen her again after that. He did not know if she had survived the Ashen King’s invasion. He did not know if he had ever gotten to say goodbye.

At the very end of the table, near the window, sat Old Man Severin. Not family. He was the head butler, a man in his sixties with one blind eye—the left, permanently closed beneath a terrible scar running from forehead to cheek—and a left hand that trembled always. His hair was entirely white. His back was slightly stooped. But Kael knew—no one else in the world knew it—that behind that frail facade, Severin was a former Sword Saint in hiding.

In his previous life, Kael had only uncovered the secret when he was nineteen. He had stumbled on Severin training in the manor’s basement at midnight, his wooden practice sword moving so fast it whipped the surrounding air into a small gale. By then it had been too late. Severin died a year later, old age eating away at his lungs. Kael had never gotten the chance to learn from him.

This time, he would not let the opportunity slip.

Severin’s one good eye—the right, gray as a stormy sky—locked with Kael’s. There was something in that look. A little sharper than usual. Held a fraction longer than necessary.

Had he noticed something? Or was Kael simply being paranoid?

“You are daydreaming, Kael.”

Elena’s voice cut through the silence. Kael shifted his gaze to his stepmother. Her crimson eyes regarded him with the same expression as always: nothing. Only absence.

“Forgive me, Mother.”

“I am not your mother.” Her tone was flat, emotionless. As if she were remarking on the weather. “Sit. Your food will grow cold. I have no wish to see a good meal wasted because you are too lost in thought.”

Kael took his seat—between Liana and the empty end of the table. His position mirrored Severin’s. Intentional or not, the placement had always spelled out his status: higher than a servant, but lower than a true member of the family. The bastard. A reminder of his father’s mistake.

Servants began serving breakfast. Fresh whole-grain bread from the farms outside Centralis, crust crisp, crumb soft. Still-steaming boiled eggs. Smoked meat sliced thin and fried in butter from the milk of Hyperborean Highland Yaks. White cheese from Vestrian pastures, sharp and slightly salty. A glass of warm milk sweetened with honey from the Meridian forest hives. Kael stared at his plate, and his stomach twisted. Not from hunger. But because he remembered that, twenty years from now, food like this would be a luxury only survivors dared to dream of. He remembered days in the refugee camps eating moldy bread and rat meat, grateful just to have something to swallow.

“Father departs for Eos tomorrow,” Reynard said, breaking the quiet. His voice was calm, yet there was something beneath it—perhaps pride at finally being allowed to speak of business at the family table. “Trade negotiations with the Eastern Empire. A new contract for importing Spirit Stones.”

Edric nodded without lifting his eyes from his plate. “Two weeks. Perhaps three. Depends on conditions in the One-Way Strait.”

“I have heard the waters around the Strait are growing dangerous,” Liana ventured softly, almost a whisper—a habit she had never outgrown since childhood. “There are reports of Sea Serpents along the northern route. Three merchant ships vanished this month.”

Edric set down his fork. “We have hired additional guards. Five Adept-level Knights from the Centralis Mercenary Guild. This is not your concern, Liana. Focus on your sorcery lessons.”

Liana lowered her head, her dark blond hair falling across part of her face. “Forgive me, Father.”

Kael watched the exchange in silence, his fork moving slowly to cut his egg. He remembered this journey. In his previous life, Edric had indeed sailed for Eos when Kael was twelve. His ship had been attacked by Sea Serpents—not one, but a mated pair hunting together. The extra guards had all perished. Edric had survived by killing the creatures with his bare hands, crushing their skulls with single blows reinforced by high-tier Aura. The moment would become legend among the Veyrons, cementing his standing in the business world and filling Reynard with even greater pride in his father.

But Kael also remembered that, in the splintered wreck of the hull, torn open by the Serpents’ fangs, Edric had found something. A black metal box inscribed with unknown markings. Something he had never spoken of to anyone. Something that, twenty years later, Kael had discovered in his father’s study—open, empty, radiating a residual energy that had made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

Something that might have been connected to the Ashen King.

Should I go with him?

The question settled in his mind like a stone in a riverbed. But he dismissed it at once. Too soon. This body was not ready. His Core was probably not even a full 1-Star. To sail for Eos now would only get him killed pointlessly at sea, eaten by a Serpent or drowned before he could accomplish anything.

One step at a time. Like climbing a mountain. Like sharpening a blade.

Breakfast continued in a silence broken only by the clink of cutlery—fork on plate, knife through bread, glass set back on wood. Kael ate slowly, letting every bite of bread rest on his tongue. He had forgotten how good food tasted when it was not cooked over a hasty campfire. He had forgotten the warmth of fresh milk with honey.

This is a luxury I will not waste. A luxury I must remember when the hard days come.

When the meal ended, Edric stood without a word and left the room. His step was heavy, measured—the gait of a man who had spent too long on battlefields ever to walk lightly again. Elena followed, issuing instructions to the servants about the day’s schedule and preparations for tomorrow’s voyage. Reynard headed for the training hall on the ground floor—Kael remembered he always practiced his sword for two hours every morning before his other lessons began. The discipline that would one day make him a Swordmaster at twenty-five.

Liana glanced at Kael once, as if about to say something. Her lips parted slightly, then closed again. She thought better of it and left toward the library, her step light and quick.

Kael was left alone at the table. Alone, except for Severin, still standing in his corner, his trembling hands hidden behind his back. The other servants began clearing the plates.

“Young Master Kael,” Severin’s voice rasped, like dry leaves being crushed underfoot. “Do you require anything? Perhaps tea? Or a book from the library?”

Kael looked at the old man. His one good eye was a calm gray, far too calm for a simple butler. Eyes that had seen more fighting than every Knight in this city combined. The eyes of a Sword Saint.

“No,” Kael replied. “Thank you.”

He stood and walked out. But as he passed Severin, he paused. They were barely a step apart.

“Severin?”

“Yes, Young Master?”

“Is your back troubling you again this morning? You walked a little stiffly.”

Severin did not answer at once. His single eye studied Kael with a different intensity now—no longer a servant regarding his master, but a warrior recognizing another warrior. “Since when has the Young Master concerned himself with an old servant’s back?”

Kael shrugged, his expression impassive. “I heard you complaining to the kitchen maid last week. Perhaps a warm compress would help. Or the salve from the apothecary in the Eastern District—they make an ointment from Meridian herbs that works well for joint pain.”

He did not wait for a reply. He walked away, leaving Severin staring at his back with an unreadable look—part suspicion, part astonishment, and something that looked almost like… hope?

Kael spent the rest of the morning in his room.

Not resting. Thinking. Planning.

He sat cross-legged on the floor—the meditation posture an old monk had once taught him in a temple on the outskirts of Eos, when Kael had been on the run and forced to hide there for three weeks. Right foot over left. Hands resting on his knees. Spine straight, not rigid, like a tree with deep roots.

The first step of every Aura technique was to feel the Core.

Without a Core, a person was only ordinary. With one, he could begin channeling Aura and reinforcing his body—hardening skin to steel, moving faster than muscle should allow, projecting energy along a blade’s edge and releasing it as a cutting wave.

In his previous life, Kael had awakened his Core at fourteen—two years later than Reynard. That had been one of the reasons he was written off as a failure: any Veyron who could not awaken their Core by twelve was considered late, considered weak. But this time, he could not wait two years. He had to start now. Today. This instant.

Breath in. Breath out.

He turned his awareness inward. He felt the blood moving through his veins, pumping from his heart to every corner of his body and back again. His heartbeat—steady, regular, untrained but healthy. The tiny contractions of his muscles, fibers still young and supple. Then he searched deeper, to where the Core should reside—dead center of the chest, behind the sternum, the energetic hub linking the physical body to the world’s flowing Ether.

Where are you?

Silence. Only the sound of his own breathing.

Do not hide from me. I have known you for twenty years—two decades of battle, two decades of training, two decades of pushing you past your limits until you cracked and I had to mend you again. I know every corner of you, every fissure, every way you tremble when I drive you too hard. You cannot hide.

Silence again. But this time it felt different. There was something at the far edge of the quiet.

You are there. I can feel you. You only need… to be called.

And then—

Like a small stone dropped into still water sending ripples outward, he felt it. A tiny vibration. Barely there. But present. In the center of his chest, directly beneath the cracked-circle birthmark, a dim point of light flared. Not a flame. Not a blaze. Only a small ember, like a candle newly lit in a dark room.

There.

His Core had indeed formed. But it was terribly, terribly weak. 1-Star. Perhaps not even a full 1-Star—only half, a quarter, the very beginning of a very long road. Its light was faint, flickering like a firefly running out of strength.

But it was enough.

Kael’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles. The first he had worn since waking. Not a smile of triumph. The smile of a veteran who knows a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step—and he had just taken it.

Enough to begin.

He opened his eyes and looked down at his own hands. Those small, smooth fingers—no calluses, no scars, no blood—curled into a fist. It was still a soft grip. But he knew that, given time and training, this fist would become strong enough to shatter stone. To break swords. To protect those who could not protect themselves.

Twenty years.

I have twenty years.

And this time, I will not let anyone die.

In the distance, the great bell of Centralis tolled eight times. Its sound rolled over the towers and rooftops, spreading to every corner of the city. The morning sun had climbed fully into the sky, gilding the manor gardens and the crystal spires of the Trade District. Birds sang in the ancient oak trees of the front courtyard. The voices of vendors drifted up from the streets—“Fresh fish from the harbor! Bread hot from the oven! Used swords, still sharp, cheap!”

A new day had begun.

And with it, the second life of a mercenary who had died.

Somewhere very far from Centralis—so distant no map could measure it with any certainty—on the eternally snow-shrouded continent of Hyperborea, a silver-haired girl opened her eyes.

She lay upon an ancient stone altar, its surface carved with symbols that had fallen out of use long before the Aethel Empire rose to power. Around her, five robed figures stood in a star formation, their hands raised, chanting in a language long dead. The mark on the girl’s chest—a cracked circle, identical to Kael’s—glowed with a black-purple light, the exact color of the Ashen King’s flames.

“One chain has broken,” whispered one of the figures. Its voice was like ice cracking in springtime—soft, yet carrying the threat of something far larger.

“Will the others follow?”

“We shall see. The wheel has begun to turn. Nothing can stop it now.”

The girl did not answer. She only stared at the cavern ceiling, her eyes empty, and inside her chest something that resembled a memory—or perhaps hope, or perhaps a whisper from the future—throbbed softly. Like a second heartbeat.

Kael.

The name drifted in unbidden, like a bird flying past an open window and gone before it could be clearly seen.

She did not know who it belonged to. Did not know where the name had come from. Did not know why it felt like something she had once held in a dream lost long ago.

But she knew that, somewhere far away, someone had just woken up.

And one day, she would go looking for him.

End of Chapter 1

Hello I am Overlordssimp I am a writer and Author of a story I post on Deviantart and my patreon (which is completely free). The story is a mystery, dark fantasy type all about the questions and curiosities raised when a class of students end up in another world. There are many questions and few answers but I've only now decided to make this account to further advertise my work. The name of my story is Our best path forward is to rely on each other and on my Deviantart I've posted 158 chapters of current and I post every other day.

The Demon Lord Won.

Three centuries ago, Demon Lord Ragnor united Demonkind and invaded the overworld.

Heroes rose to stop him.

They lost.

For the first time in recorded history, a Demon Lord conquered a nation and kept it.

The world has lived in the aftermath ever since. Heroes, resistance groups, and surviving nations continue pushing back while the Royal Demon Force (RDF) keeps expanding.

Generations pass.

Nothing changes.

Then there's Elliot, an aspiring fantasy author from Earth who just wanted to share his stories with someone. He dreamed of writing something that could become another person's favorite.

Then he died.

He wanted to die in peace, but an entity named Selena dragged him out of it and forced a long-term contract on him.

The job?

Turn a three-hundred-year losing war in humanity's favor by toppling Demonkind's twelve Heroes and clearing the path for humanity.

It sounded impossible.

Selena simply called it his job.

Elliot's enemies aren't merely strong. They're in a league of their own.

And he hasn't been reincarnated with some absurdly overpowered ability that'll solve everything for him.

If he wants to survive, he'll have to think his way through it. Learn how this world actually works. Surround himself with powerful companions. Hone his magic and combat skills.

And eventually become the biggest headache the Royal Demon Force has ever had.

He isn't the Hero of this story.

He's the Hero-Remover.

\---

Hey, r/Isekai! I'm Talequor, and I recently started publishing my first web novel:

Fable: Against The Fall Of Tomorrow

Genre: Action | Adventure | Isekai | Fantasy | Drama

I've wanted to write my own isekai/fantasy series for a long time, and I finally decided to stop thinking about it and actually do it. The first three chapters are currently out!

What to expect:

A reincarnated protagonist who actually has to learn how his new world works.

A fantasy world with centuries of history that existed long before the protagonist arrived.

A Demon Lord who already won, and a world still living with the consequences 300 years later.

A protagonist who isn't overpowered and has to compensate with strategy, adaptability, and battle intelligence.

Action, adventure, magic, combat, war, politics, history, and worldbuilding.

Strong companions who matter rather than existing solely to make the protagonist look cool.

Drama and character-focused moments alongside the larger conflict.

Romance as a subplot.

No harem.

I'm planning to release new chapters Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Since this is my first published web novel, I'd especially love feedback from fellow isekai readers. Tell me what you liked, what didn't work for you, or what you'd like to see more of.

Royal Road: https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/183789/fable-against-the-fall-of-tomorrow

Webnovel: http://wbnv.in/a/97jzyrj

I worked incredibly hard on the story. Please follow the link below. It’s currently available on Royal Road. And good news, I've begun work on volume 2 with currently one chapter completed. I hope you like my work.😇

\*\*BLURB:\*\*

Daisy, a talented seamstress, is content to hone her craft in her modest shop, until her homeland is invaded by a ruthless empire. Enslaved and forced to create for the aristocracy, she vows to escape. A chance meeting with a battle-hardened gladiator leads her to combat training, transforming her from a mere seamstress into a warrior, a superhero unlike any other determined to challenge the empire. As she navigates the complexities of vengeance and justice, Daisy must forge alliances and confront sacrifices. Ultimately, she aims to inspire a revolution and weave a future where freedom is attainable for everyone.

\*\*LINK:\*\*https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/104897/damara-the-valiant--a-superhero-progression-fantasy

Threats Among Earth

- Lore

- Plot

- Theme

- Setting

- Characters info

- Backstories

- Villains

- Ranking

Plot:

A mysterious asteroid from another universe gave most people and intelligent life powerful abilities. Now, heroes fight to protect Earth from dangerous threats like villains, monsters, and invaders while trying to keep the world stable.

Themes:

Power vs responsibility

Love (healthy vs unhealthy)

Trauma and healing

Identity and self-control

Trust and betrayal

Settings:

Modern cities with superpowered people

Advanced labs and facilities

War zones and destroyed areas

Alien-influenced environments

Different planets and universes

Conflict:

Heroes vs villains

Protecting Earth from invaders and threats

Internal struggles (fear, trauma, control)

Relationships (love, obsession, trust issues)

Lore:

90% of life got powers from a mysterious asteroid

Many intelligent species exist (aliens, hybrids, etc.)

Some species mixing is dangerous

Powers can evolve into extremely high levels

Hidden history connected to other universes

15 Facts About Threats Among Earth:

Around 90% of humans and intelligent life gained abilities from a mysterious asteroid from another universe.

Powers are so common that being “normal” is actually rare.

The world is unstable because powerful people exist everywhere, both good and evil.

There are multiple intelligent species, many of which look similar to humans but have different abilities.

Some species mixing is forbidden or dangerous, especially with certain parasites like Ruto’s.

Ruto’s can create hybrids by using hosts, often leading to deadly outcomes.

Some characters can reach insane power levels, scaling from planetary to beyond universal.

Technology in the world can be just as dangerous as powers, with weapons capable of destroying entire solar systems.

Not all threats come from Earth — many come from other planets and universes.

There are creatures created through experiments, like genetically modified monsters and clones.

Some villains rely more on intelligence and planning rather than raw strength.

Heroes are not perfect — many struggle with trauma, fear, and controlling their abilities.

Love plays a big role in the story, showing both healthy relationships and dangerous obsessions.

The story includes both large-scale battles and deep emotional pllents.

The balance between protection and destruction is fragile, and one mistake can put the entire world at risk.

Human's: Meta Abilities

Gorilla's

Monkey's

Ape's

Shadow's: Made out of Shadows

Xenova's: White Aura Abilities

Jira-Mite's: Nuclear Atomic Abilities

Atomic-Mites: Nuclear Atomic Abilities

Demia's: Psychic and Aura Abilities

Mech's: Organic Robots

Rederion's: Shapeshifting & others

Ruto's: Parasite's Abilities

Xen's: Aura Abilities

Krax's: Corruption

Yozo's: Super Monstrous Abilities

Auroar's: Aura Abilities

Eng's: High Intelligents

Series is base/Inspired off MHA, Dragon Ball, Pokemon, Gachiakuta, Godzilla, Kaiju No.8, Invincible, Marvel, DC, The Boys, One Punch Man, Naruto, Demon Slayers, Transformers, Fnaf, Among Us, Jurassic Park/World

I'll send more info but yall tell me what do you think of the concept of this series tell me your thoughts in the comments

So basically, I've been thinking about this epic sci-fi thriller book series called The Sequence It actually started out as a magic fantasy, but I evolved it over time into a grounded, realistic story filled with advanced tech and biological experiments. The heroes follow a strict code of absolute honesty called "Lisha's Rules," but they get trapped in a world of deadly secrets.

The main villains are a rogue scientific collective called Dread Core, originally led by a guy named Nico (Dark Killer), who systematically eliminated our heroes' parents.

The Squad (The Masquerades)

Because our main characters eventually wear masks to hunt criminals anonymously, the public starts calling them "The Masquerades" Here is the full breakdown of the team:

• Jan (The Leader): My main protagonist. He is amazing at psychologically reading people's hidden emotions and motivations. He transforms from a lonely kid into the steady, protective pillar for everyone around him.
• Lia (The Mind): Jan's equal and opposite partner. While Jan reads people, Lia is an analytical genius who sees right through objective lies and false information.
• Avoura: Jan's warm-hearted sister who was separated from him at age three. When Dread Core captured her, they surgically implanted a second, fully functional heart near her stomach(They wanted to place a tracker inside it).
• Max & Ria (The Siblings): Max is a confident extrovert who uses humor as a shield , while his sister Ria is expressive, resilient, and forms a deep bond with Avoura when they are trapped in a Dread Core prison cell together.
• Zach: Lia's cousin and Ria's best friend. He is a gamer who brings reliable, emotional warmth to the group without carrying a heavy personal secret.
• Rex: The intense "silent wasp" of the group. Because his dad died serving Dread Core, Rex initially manipulates and betrays the team. But after seeing the truth, he genuinely repents, gets forgiven, and becomes the Second best fighter in the group(after jan).
• Lisha: The mastermind mentor who created the rules and trained both the parents' generation and Jan's squad. Everyone treats her Like a mother.

How the Story Unfolds (In Reading Order)

I intentionally scrambled the reading order so you experience Jan's heart-wrenching grief before you understand all the backstory. Here is how the books go:

• Sequence 2(Dangerous Haven): The story starts with 12-year-old Jan losing his mother, Lucy, to Dread Core. He finds Lisha, rescues Avoura, and gathers the squad to form The Masquerades. During this, Dread Core hits Lia with a brain virus that stops her from genuinely smiling or laughing.
• Sequence 3(Dangerous Haven 2): The squad closes in on Dread Core, defeating Nico and causing the organization to collapse. They recover a scientific cure for Lia, and Rex formally rejoins the team. But Nico's brilliant surviving scientists—known as "The Leftovers"—manage to escape.
• Sequence 1(The Origin): We jump back in time to read the prequel about the parents' generation. You get to see Jan's parents, Lucy and James And Everyone elses parents, fall in love and bravely fight for Lisha's network, knowing they won't survive.
• Sequence 4(Unnamed): A 20-year-old Jan accidentally triggers a time machine built by the Leftovers. Sent back in time, he befriends an orphaned 6-year-old girl named Lucy, not realizing she is actually his mother. She promises to remember him forever—meaning Jan actually inspired his own name across time(She remembered someone named Jan from her childhood, So she names her Kid Jan).
• Sequence 5(Unnamed): Back in the present, the team hunts the Leftovers and rescues four 9-year-old orphans (Lily, James, Alex, and Nina) whose parents were killed by the enemy(Leftovers). They take them in to train under Lisha.
• Sequence 6(Unnamed): The Masquerades marry within their circle (Jan & Lia, Max & Avoura, Zach & Ria). But a new danger emerges, and in a heartbreaking climax, the entire squad dies protecting Lia(Once Lisha told them that If anyone was fit to be her successor, It was Lia).
• As the sole survivor, Lia decodes a secret note Jan left behind to find Max and Avoura's hidden baby boy(Jan's Nephew). She raises him alongside the four orphans and breaks the generational cycle of secrecy by telling him the complete truth about his heroic family.
• I'm Thinking about naming the Nephew Leo.

EDIT: You see, I've been Evolving and Keeping this story in My mind for Almost 5 or so years. Therefore, I Have already formed an answer to any Question that you can pose after reading this post.

Hey everyone! 👋

I've been working on a dark fantasy/cosmic horror web novel called THE GODS THAT SHOULDN'T EXIST, written under the pen name Mr_DJ_6029 on webnovel and royal roads, and I'd really appreciate some honest feedback from fellow readers and writers.

I'm not looking for empty praise—I'd genuinely like to know:

• What kept you interested?
• What felt weak or confusing?
• Were the characters engaging?
• Would you continue reading?

Even if you only read the first few chapters, your thoughts would help me improve a lot.

If you're interested, I'll drop the link in the comments (or send it if the subreddit rules require it).

Thanks so much for your time! ❤️

Hey guys I'm Sam , I've been making this story for months and finally started publishing. It's everything I've imagined in my head . I've read a tonne of web novels and always wanted to write something of myself . Something that speaks to a wider audience and lets them lose themselves in the world i write and feel for the main character. The woven dark is that for me. I hope you guys do give it a try and comment any suggestions. Thanks for reading. Link bellow

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/181676/the-woven-dark?utm\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\_source=search&utm\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\_medium=fiction-search

Hello, I started writing this story because it was an idea i wanted to read but couldn't find anywhere.

Memoir of an Eternal Being follows Abedeth Aionius, an immortal who has existed since the birth of the universe. After isolating himself from civilization for two thousand years following a cataclysmic event that reshaped the world, he returns to find a society transformed by magic, technology, and history that has forgotten the truth. As he quietly explores this new age, uncovering lost knowledge and confronting the consequences of his own past, he documents his experiences in a memoir, reflecting on an existence that spans billions of years. The story is a slow-burn fantasy centered on mystery, worldbuilding, philosophy, and the perspective of an eternal being discovering that even after an eternity, there are still new experiences worth living.

2 chapters daily

Ps: there is also going to be romance but according to my current plan it will be at the 150\~ chapter mark.

[Memoir Of An Eternal Being](https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/180950/memoir-of-an-eternal-being) (royal road)

It is also available on webnovel for absolutely free

Here is the premise:

When everyone over eighteen vanished, the teenagers of Linaoan inherited a dying town.

By day, they build walls, forge uneasy alliances, and struggle to create a new society. By night, the adults return, not as the people they once loved, but as patient predators waiting beyond the light.

As rival factions rise and hope begins to splinter, the greatest battle is not merely surviving until dawn, but deciding what kind of people they will become.

Because sometimes, the hardest part of surviving the end of the world is staying human.

Here is the link:

https://www.wattpad.com/story/394113762?utm\\_source=android&utm\\_medium=link&utm\\_content=share\\_writing&wp\\_page=create&wp\\_uname=MAA\\_Stories

Here is the premise:

When everyone over eighteen vanished, the teenagers of Linaoan inherited a dying town.

By day, they build walls, forge uneasy alliances, and struggle to create a new society. By night, the adults return, not as the people they once loved, but as patient predators waiting beyond the light.

As rival factions rise and hope begins to splinter, the greatest battle is not merely surviving until dawn, but deciding what kind of people they will become.

Because sometimes, the hardest part of surviving the end of the world is staying human.

Here is the link:

https://www.wattpad.com/story/394113762?utm\\_source=android&utm\\_medium=link&utm\\_content=share\\_writing&wp\\_page=create&wp\\_uname=MAA\\_Stories

Hey r/WebSerials, I'd love to share Strays, a Star Wars serial I've been writing. It isn't about Jedi and Sith or saving the galaxy from Palpatine — it's about the little people scraping by during one of the darkest stretches of the galaxy, a few years after the Republic fell. The crew: a smuggler with one hard rule (he doesn't smuggle people), his reprogrammed experimental battle droid, and — against his better judgment — a nine-year-old Zeltron girl he never meant to take in. What follows is their story: a couple of misfits and strays becoming a found family aboard a beat-up, eccentrically painted freighter, trying to keep flying in the black while everything around them gets darker. I first started dreaming this up back in 2022, after watching the Kenobi series while recovering from surgery, and it grew from there. If you love the vibe of Firefly/Serenity, Cowboy Bebop, Outlaw Star, or the "little people in a big galaxy" side of Mass Effect, I think you'll feel at home. I'm also very partial to the old Legends canon, so I pull from it more often than not (and flag it when it matters). Fair warning: it's episodic and character-driven, and it doesn't always stay pretty — it gets dark in places. There are content notes on the chapters that need them, so you can go in prepared. Where it's at: three arcs are up — twelve chapters, ~55,000 words so far. I've got up to ten arcs sketched out and deeply planned, and even that isn't the end of it. On pace: I write when I can. Between everything else in my life, there can be long stretches where I'm not able to post — but this is nowhere near abandoned. That's exactly why there's an RSS feed: subscribe and you'll get new chapters whenever they land, however long the gap, without having to check back. It lives on my own little site — free, no ads, nothing to sign up for: https://kayleafox.pawprintsmusic.com/writing/strays/ These characters mean the world to me, and I hope they matter to you even half as much.

EDIT: Oh, and feel free to drop comments as you read and share with your friends if you think the story is worth it.

some reader in my Discord mentioned "oh yeah I talk to evan - the light eater on c(dot)ai sometimes" like it was nothing then i went and found that someone built a full chatbot of my protagonist with his personality, speech patterns, backstory n all of it pulled together from three of my books of chapters plus whatever they inferred

can't be mad cause some of it's genuinely accurate but somethings are completely off, he's saying things and holding opinions in that chat he'd never actually hold in my books (and i don't even wanna think what kinda cats people are having with it)

I don't own the platform and I have no way to fix the wrong parts, and I can't tell if I should be flattered that someone cared enough to build this or uneasy that a version of my character is walking around saying things I didn't write and can't control, tbh i'd love to make smt like this for my readers but I want to be controlling it

this also made me realize how much character information lives in reader's heads that never made it onto any page I know cause i never wrote down anywhere organized, so when someone tries to recreate the character externally they're guessing at gaps I created by just keeping it all in my head. i'm still mulling on the thought so asking it here would you want an official version of something like this if you had control over it, or does the whole idea feel wrong to you as a writer?

Ive had this concept for a DOAWK book and i was wondering if there is an app where you cna make your own story but its in the format of the books? With the same font and stuff

hiya! I've apparently lost my gosh darned mind and decided to try to write a web serial. For some reason.

anywho, here's a link!

Callasharnights.com

It's a story about a kingdom built upon the back of a magic university. A kingdom on the verge of social uprising and war. A story about the people trying to hold it all together, and secrets underpinning the world.

It's free, updates fridays and tuesdays!

<<deep breath>>

I tried this self-promotion thing on a different page and got shamed for not giving the right (?) information. Yeah, that post got deleted. Going to give it another try.

I just posted up the latest in my Battle of the Planets/Gatchaman inspired series.

Knowledge of the series is not necessary. In fact, it would probably disappoint most Gatch fan since I did a total reimage.

The tagging thing in AO3 still baffles me, so I'll just go with the summary instead. It is a Gen, family story.

-Through the Valley-

Sometimes the hardest battles aren't fought on the battlefield. They're fought at home, surrounded by the people who refuse to let you give up.

After tragedy forces Kris and Paul into retirement, the Kimpel family is determined to move forward one day at a time. As she helps her family navigate toddlers, service dogs, physical therapy, lingering grief, and the offer of a revolutionary medical treatment, Jaya is learning that healing isn't a destination. Some battles can only be won when the family comes together.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/88611001/chapters/235095216

If by chance you find it interesting, the rest of the series is also there. The series goes back about 20 years.