Starlight, Falling

 Title: "Starlight, Falling" 

The ship shuddered in the quiet, an uneasy groan that stirred Ben from his bunk. He squinted at the dim blue lights that pulsed down the narrow hallway outside his door, soft as starlight. It reminded him of Earth, of the constellations his mom had shown him through her old telescope, long before the launch. 

Now there was nothing to see through the windows but blackness. Somewhere in that black was Celeste, the new world, still months away. 

He tugged on his shoes, pulled his sweater over his head, and slid out of his tiny room. Down the hall, the ship’s walls hummed, a low, strange vibration that tickled his skin and made his bones ache. 

“Mom?” he whispered, peering into the mess hall. Empty trays sat on tables, some half-filled cups abandoned, water still rippling inside. He reached for a cup, took a sip, and frowned. It tasted metallic, bitter. 

In the corridor, he caught the sharp smell of something burnt. He squinted, spotting a dark smear along the wall near the main control panel. He wasn’t allowed in there—Mom said it was “just for the adults.” But all the adults were missing. 

“Hello?” he called, his voice wavering in the hollow silence. 

The lights flickered. The hum deepened, rattling through the floor. For a brief second, he felt weightless, his feet lifting off the ground before gravity returned and slammed him back down. His stomach twisted. 

Then he heard it—a voice. Thin, crackling, like a signal strained to its edge. 

"Celeste… approach… malfunction…" 

Ben ran toward the sound, skidding to a halt outside the control room door. It was open. Inside, the screens glowed dimly, flickering images of strange shapes, distant planets, endless stars. He reached up, touching one of the buttons, and a voice—mechanical, cold—echoed through the room. 

“Colony Vessel One. Critical failure. Emergency procedures engaged. Estimated arrival: Null.” 

"Null?" he whispered, trying to remember if he'd heard that word before. 

And then he saw them—his mom and the others, caught in a dim freeze on one of the screens, their faces blank, staring. They looked… hollow, drained, their eyes open but lifeless. As he watched, the image faded, fizzling out into static. 

A low hiss began behind him. Ben turned, feeling the chill creep through the hall as the air thinned. The lights blinked, fading one by one. 

The hum of the ship faded to silence. Starlight poured in through the viewports, cold and vast. 

And then, there was nothing at all. 

 The third and last book in the Fate's Foe series is now out. Order a copy from your favorite book vendor. I'll soon have some copies for direct sales too. Here is the 1st chapter for you enjoyment.

Jas Cutter's boots clapped against the cobblestones of Valen's bustling marketplace, weaving through the throngs of people with an agility that came from years of navigating the crowded streets. Luka bounced beside him like a sparrow, his eyes wide with the excitement of their secret mission.

"Bet you can't swipe an apple from old Manfred's cart without him noticing," Luka challenged, a mischievous twinkle lighting his eyes.

"Please," Jas scoffed playfully, flipping a lock of brown hair out of his face. "Manfred's eyes are sharper than a hawk's. But I'll take your bet just to see you do the chicken dance in front of Tovan when you lose."

A hearty chuckle rumbled from behind them as Tovan, more like an uncle than a mere bodyguard, kept a watchful eye on the pair from a respectful distance. His presence was both comforting and slightly smothering to Jas, who yearned for just a smidgeon of freedom.

"Alright, but no magic this time," Luka insisted, knowing full well about Jas's clandestine abilities.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Jas replied, a grin tugging at his lips.

“Remember you’re retired,” Tovan called up to the two boys, “You promised your father no more stealing.”

“I wasn’t going to keep it. Just staying in practice,” Jas called back.

Their banter was momentarily paused as they passed by a stand draped with vibrant textiles, the air tinged with the scents of exotic spices and fresh pastries where a group of soldiers were shopping. It wasn't long before the chat turned serious again, their voices dropping to a hushed tone as they navigated around a pile of crates.

"War's coming, Jas," Luka said, his youthful face suddenly lined with worry. "I heard my parents talking. The Necromian Kingdom and the Elvish Kingdom...they're really going to do it, aren't they?"

"Seems like it," Jas murmured, his gaze sweeping over the market stalls as if the very shadows hid the impending conflict. "That's why we're leaving with the handcart company. Dad says it's not safe anymore, not even for Necromians like my dad."

"Or humans like us," Luka added softly.

"Exactly," Jas agreed, clapping a reassuring hand on Luka's shoulder. "We'll be okay, though. We've got each other, and our families.”

They continued on, their mission leading them to scrutinize various shops for supplies needed for the arduous journey ahead. Barrels of salted meats, wheels of cheese wrapped in cloth, and sacks of grain were all inspected with a critical eye.

"Hey, Jas?" Luka's voice held a hint of hesitation. "What do you think about your dad marrying Alix? She's...well, she's an Elf."

Jas paused, considering the emerald-eyed woman who had entered their lives with a quiet grace. He shrugged noncommittally, though his heart warmed at the thought of her gentle smile.

"She's okay," he admitted, allowing himself a small smile at the memory of her laughter echoing through the halls of the Cutter residence. Alix is...well, Alix. She is nice. And it was fun saving her from the angry mob that day we first met. It’s just weird after it being just me and my dad for so long."

"Yeah," Luka nodded, understanding flickering in his young eyes. "She is nice. I like all the gadgets in her shop, too."

"Nice doesn't begin to cover it," Jas corrected, and then quickly added, "But don't you start calling her my mom. She’s just Alix.”

"Wouldn't dream of it!" Luka chuckled, nudging Jas with his elbow.

With their list nearly complete, Jas felt a sense of accomplishment. They were doing something important, something that mattered for their families' future. And as the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the market, Jas felt ready for whatever lay ahead. With his family, new and old, they would face it together.

The rich aroma of roasting nuts wafted through the air, mingling with the musky scent of leather from a nearby stall. Jas's fingers brushed over the rusica, the ancient elvish glove known as Fireweaver, warming his hand both literally and figuratively. Fireweaver was a fieles, a magic item created from a piece of a person’s soul. It was then that the faintest whisper tickled his mind, a voice only he could hear.

"Jas," Fireweaver murmured, its tone urgent yet calm, "beware. A young cutpurse approaches from behind."

"Got it," Jas replied mentally, not missing a beat as he feigned interest in a display of ornate compasses. “I already noticed him. He never would’ve made it in Aguares.” Without turning, he felt the presence of the would-be thief edging closer. Just as a small, tentative hand slipped towards his pocket, Jas whipped around, capturing the boy's wrist with practiced ease.

"Whoa there, little fish. The sea's far too rough for you to be swimming without learning the currents first," Jas said, a playful glint in his eye as he looked down at the boy whose wide, frightened eyes darted up to meet his. The boy was human and judging by the olive-colored skin he was Bettsian like Luka was. Maybe 6 years old?

"Sorry, sir! I..." the boy stammered, words tumbling out in panic.

"Relax," Jas soothed, releasing his grip but keeping his voice firm. "I'm not going to turn you in." Memories flashed before him—hungry days, cold nights, and the fateful encounter that changed his life.

"Here's a tip: don't go for the bulging pockets; they are often a decoy." He winked, ruffling the boy's matted hair. 

Luka watched in awe; his mouth slightly agape. "You're not mad at him?"

"Mad?" Jas chuckled softly. "Can't blame a stray cat for trying to snag a fish from the market. Besides, this is how I met my dad."

"Really?" Luka leaned in as if the tale were a secret meant only for him.

"Yep. Tried to pick his pocket, just like our friend here." Jas's gaze softened as he beckoned a vendor to hand him a meat pie, which he offered to the trembling child. "What's your name, kid?"

"Remy," the boy murmured, accepting the pie with hands that shook like autumn leaves.

"Who do you live with, Remy?" Luka asked, his brow creased with concern.

"No one," came the quiet reply before the boy took a ravenous bite, crumbs cascading down his chin.

Jas exchanged a look with Luka, the unspoken question hanging between them—what next? But the decision was swept away as swiftly as Remy after his meal, the boy bolting through the crowd, agile as a sparrow.

"Should we... do something?" Luka asked, his voice trailing off as Remy disappeared into the throngs of people.

Jas sighed, watching the space where Remy had vanished. "Sometimes, all you can do is give someone a chance at a better choice. After that, it's up to them to take it." His gaze lingered, thoughtful, before returning to the task at hand. "Come on, let's finish up here. We've got a long journey ahead."

The clatter of wooden wheels against cobblestones filled the air as Jas and Luka made their way back to the Cutter residence, a sturdy stone building nestled at the edge of Valen. The market's vibrant chaos retreated behind them, replaced by the orderly bustle of the family compound.

"Think your dad will like the extra ropes we got?" Luka bounced on the balls of his feet, a bundle of energy even after their long day.

"Knowing Mathen, he'll say we can never have too much rope," Jas replied with an easy grin, shrugging off the weight of the supplies they had promised to deliver.

Alix Cutter emerged from the house, her red hair catching the afternoon sun like a beacon as she directed the loading of the wagons. Her sharp green eyes softened when they landed on the boys. "Back already? I hope you didn't forget the flint."

"Got it right here." Jas patted his satchel, where the metallic tang of the flint mingled with the scent of leather.

Nearby, Luka’s mother, Ovelia, folded blankets with practiced hands, while his father, Bram, checked the harness on the draft horses, his brow furrowed in concentration. Their movements were a finely tuned dance of preparation, each step crucial for the journey ahead.

"Where's Tia?" Luka craned his neck, scanning the courtyard.

"Here!" A small voice piped up from beneath a wagon, followed by the sight of two tiny feet kicking as they tried to push a barrel into place.

"Careful, little sprout," Mathen's deep voice rumbled as he lifted the barrel with ease, setting it onto the wagon bed. His dark hair was peppered with gray, but his arms bulged with strength that belied his age.

"Trying to help," Tia said, beaming up at him. At 10 years old, or five by Necromian aging, her eagerness outshone her size.

"Helping is good," Alix chimed in, smoothing Tia's unruly curls. "But let's leave the heavy lifting to the adults, okay?"

Tia nodded vigorously; her wide eyes fixed on Alix with adoration.

Jas couldn't help but smile at the scene, a warmth spreading through his chest. This was what family looked like—chaotic, mismatched, and utterly perfect.

"Supplies are sorted. They'll be at the staging area by dawn," Jas reported, pulling himself back to the present. 

"Excellent work," Mathen nodded with approval, clasping Jas's shoulder in a firm grip. "Let's finish up here. We've got a safe haven to build. Tovan, help me hitch the oxen to the wagons."

Together, they heaved the last of the crates onto the wagons, securing them with the newly purchased ropes. Each knot tied was a promise—a vow to protect and preserve the life they all cherished.

"Ready, Tia?" Luka asked, offering his hand to his sister.

"Ready!" she squealed, her small hand disappearing into his as they climbed aboard the wagon.

With a final check, the caravan rolled forward, leaving behind the only home they'd known. Ahead lay uncertainty, adventure, and the unyielding hope of a new beginning. As the gates of Valen closed behind them, Jas felt the weight of his past lift. He was no longer just a boy who had tried to pickpocket his future; he was a part of something greater—a family forged not by blood, but by choice and love. 

https://books2read.com/u/meGjPE

Crusty the Mischievous Cub

 It had been a few months since Almas found the wolf cub, Crusty, in the depths of Aguerius Forest. Almas had taken on the responsibility of raising him, and the joys and trials of wolf cub parenting were becoming apparent.

One sunny morning, Almas sat at the breakfast table with his family. Crusty, now a lively ball of fur, playfully nipped at Almas' fingers under the table.

"Ouch! Crusty, not the fingers!" Almas exclaimed, trying to suppress a laugh.

His mother chuckled and shook her head. "Almas, dear, maybe it's time to teach Crusty some table manners."

Almas' older brother, Creetan, smirked. "He's already got the manners of a wild animal. What's next, howling at the moon during dinner?"

Almas shot Creetan a playful glare. "Hey, watch it! Crusty's still learning. We all have to start somewhere."

Almas' parents had decided to keep Ulec's existence a secret from his siblings, as it could be dangerous if the wrong people found out about an elvish family living in the forest. Instead, they told them that Almas had found Crusty while he was lost in the forest.

During a family gathering in the evening, Almas' younger sister, Cady, poked Almas with curiosity sparkling in her eyes. "Almas, how did you find Crusty in the forest? Tell us the story!"

Almas' father chimed in, his voice full of mischief. "Well, you see, Cady, your brother has a knack for attracting all sorts of woodland creatures. He's got a secret language with the animals. They just can't resist following him."

Cady's eyes widened, and she gasped in amazement. "Wow, Almas! You're like a real-life animal whisperer!"

Almas winked at his father, playing along with the tale. "That's right, Cady. They call me Almas the Animal Whisperer. I have a special bond with the creatures of the forest."

As Crusty grew, so did his mischievous nature. He would often disappear into Aguerius Forest, only to return covered in mud and leaves, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

One day, Almas and Crusty ventured out to the nearby meadow. Almas watched as Crusty rolled around in the grass, kicking up clouds of pollen.

Almas sneezed, his voice muffled. "Crusty, you're turning me into a walking sneeze factory!"

Crusty tilted his head, as if to say, "Oops, sorry!" before darting off into the meadow, chasing butterflies.

Almas chuckled and shook his head. "That cub sure knows how to keep us on our toes!"

One evening, as Almas sat under a tree with Crusty by his side, he contemplated the wisdom of his furry companion.

"Crusty, sometimes I wonder how you know things without being told. It's like you understand the world in a way we humans can't."

Crusty perked up his ears, his gaze meeting Almas'.

Almas continued, his voice filled with wonder. "You remind me of Ulec, the elvish boy I met in the forest. He had a similar way of seeing things, of understanding nature and its secrets."

Crusty let out a soft howl, as if in agreement. Almas smiled and scratched the wolf cub's ears. "I bet you and Ulec talk, Crusty. I bet Ulec uses you to see what we are doing here. Tell Ulec I can't wait till we get a chance to play in the forest again. But for now, let's enjoy our own little adventures."

As the sun set, Almas and Crusty walked back home, their bond growing stronger with each passing day.

As the days went by Almas' siblings had become accustomed to the wolf's presence, unaware of his magical origins.

One evening, as the family sat around the hearth, Almas' youngest brother, Giddy, turned to their father with a mischievous grin. "Father, can we go on an adventure in the forest? I want to find a wolf friend like Almas did!"

Almas' father chuckled and exchanged a glance with Almas' mother. "Well, Giddy, wolves are wild creatures. They're not easy to find or befriend. Besides, Almas was lucky to have found Crusty. It's not something that happens every day."

Creetan smirked and nudged Almas. "Yeah, Giddy, you'd better leave the wolf whispering to Almas. I hear he's got a secret language with animals and can call them with just a whistle!"

Almas grinned, playing along. "That's right, Creetan. Just a simple whistle, and they come running. Maybe someday, you'll learn the whistle too."

Giddy's eyes widened, filled with wonder. "Wow, Almas, you're so lucky!"

Almas glanced at Crusty, their silent understanding growing stronger by the day. Yes, he was lucky indeed to have a wolf friend and a secret only shared by a few.

Twin Cities Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Clash of Destiny

The moon cast an ethereal glow upon the lake as Tristan and Cedric set sail, their boat cutting through the calm waters with a determined purpose. The distant silhouette of the evil king's fortress grew larger with each passing moment, casting a dark shadow over their hearts. They knew that their mission would be fraught with danger, but they pressed on, driven by love, justice, and the hope of a brighter future.

Meanwhile, back in the nomad city, Aric stood at the helm, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of Tristan's approach. The air crackled with anticipation as the nomad warriors prepared for battle, their armor glinting in the sunlight. Among them, Lyra adjusted her sword belt with a resolute expression, her loyalty to Aric and the cause unwavering.

As the boat neared the shore, Tristan and Cedric leaped onto the land, their eyes fixed upon the imposing fortress before them. Towering walls rose like a barrier, guarding the heart of darkness within. The time for stealth had passed—it was now a battle of strength, courage, and the indomitable spirit that burned within their hearts.

The clash of swords and the cries of warriors echoed through the corridors of the fortress as Tristan and Cedric fought side by side, their movements synchronized as if guided by an unspoken understanding. They carved a path through the enemy forces, their determination unwavering, their skills honed through years of longing and exile.

As they ascended the stairs of the fortress, their breath ragged and hearts pounding, they reached the chamber where the evil king resided, a throne of cruelty and oppression. With a defiant roar, Tristan charged forward, his blade clashing against the evil king's, sparks dancing in the air. Cedric joined the fray, his experience and skill lending strength to his son's fervor.

The battle raged, the clash of steel filling the chamber, but Tristan and Cedric fought with a unity born of blood and a shared purpose. Their hearts burned with the fire of justice, their swords guided by a righteous fury.

In the midst of the chaos, the evil king's facade of invincibility began to crack. With each strike, each act of defiance, Tristan and Cedric chipped away at his power, revealing the vulnerability hidden beneath the veneer of tyranny.

Finally, in a moment of triumph, Tristan's blade found its mark, striking true and bringing the evil king to his knees. The room fell into a stunned silence as the once-mighty ruler lay defeated before them.

With his last breath, the evil king's dark eyes met Tristan's, a mix of hatred and resignation. "You may have won this battle, boy, but darkness will always find a way to rise again."

Tristan's voice rang with determination. "Perhaps, but we will be here to face it, to protect our people, and to rebuild what you have destroyed."

As the news of the evil king's defeat spread, the nomads and exiles rejoiced, their cheers echoing through the twin cities. Aric, Lyra, and the nomad warriors rushed to the shore, their faces alight with joy and relief as they greeted Tristan and Cedric, their heroes, their allies.

Together, they returned to the nomad city, where celebrations filled the streets. The tavern, now legendary, overflowed with merriment and laughter, the spirit of victory embracing all who entered its doors.

In the midst of the revelry, Tristan and Cedric stood before the people, their voices intertwining in a pledge of unity and restoration. The twin cities would flourish once more, guided by justice, compassion, and the indomitable spirit of those who believed in a better future.

And so, as the sun set over the twin cities, casting its warm hues across the land, a new era began—a chapter of resilience, friendship, and the unwavering spirit of those who dared to dream of a brighter tomorrow.