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

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.

Twin Cities Chapter 2

 Chapter Two: The Exiled King's Return

Amidst the twin cities, where stories intertwined and destinies converged, another tale was about to unfold—a tale of a young prince, Tristan, driven by a relentless determination to reunite his fractured family.

Within the dilapidated halls of the fallen kingdom, Tristan wandered, his footsteps echoing against the once-grand marble floors. The portraits of his ancestors stared down at him, their painted eyes filled with a haunting sadness. His mother, the queen, had vanished years ago, stolen away by the nefarious schemes of the evil king across the lake.

With an unyielding resolve, Tristan set out on a quest to rescue his mother, driven by love and fueled by a longing for justice. Guided by rumors and whispers, he ventured beyond the boundaries of his kingdom, traversing treacherous landscapes and overcoming countless obstacles.

It was during his journey that Tristan stumbled upon a hidden village, nestled amidst the verdant depths of a dense forest. Exiles from a distant land had found solace there, building a community steeped in resilience and camaraderie. Among them, Tristan discovered an elderly man, wise and weathered, bearing a striking resemblance to his father—the exiled king.

Curiosity filled Tristan's eyes as he approached the elderly man, whose name was Cedric. "You... you resemble my father," Tristan stammered, his voice laced with a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

Cedric's eyes met Tristan's, a glimmer of recognition shining within them. "Ah, the lost prince has found his way to us," he said, his voice carrying the weight of years of exile. "Yes, my boy, I am your father, banished by the evil king across the lake for daring to challenge his reign."

A torrent of emotions surged within Tristan—relief, disbelief, and a renewed sense of purpose. "Father, I've come to rescue Mother. I can't bear the thought of her suffering any longer."

Cedric's face softened, his weathered hands reaching out to grasp Tristan's. "Together, my son, we shall embark on this perilous journey. But know that the path ahead is treacherous, and the evil king's fortress is guarded by formidable forces."

Tristan's determination burned bright, bolstered by his newfound connection with his father. "I am ready, Father. Ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead. We shall gather our allies, reclaim our strength, and march to rescue Mother."

With each passing day, Tristan and Cedric rallied the exiles, uniting them under a common cause—the overthrow of the evil king and the liberation of their people. The hidden village became a hive of activity as weapons were sharpened, strategies devised, and tales of courage and resistance shared.

One evening, as the campfire crackled, Tristan sat beside his father, their gazes fixed upon the stars that dotted the night sky. "Father, tell me more about our kingdom, about Mother and the battles you fought."

Cedric's eyes shone with a mixture of sorrow and pride. "Our kingdom was once a beacon of prosperity, a realm where justice and compassion flourished. But the evil king coveted our lands, seeking to engulf them in darkness. Your mother, Queen Isabella, was a pillar of strength, beloved by all. When she was taken, a part of our kingdom's soul was ripped away."

Tristan's jaw tightened, his fists clenching in determination. "We will restore our kingdom's soul, Father. We will save Mother and bring justice to the evil king. Our people deserve nothing less."

As the moon ascended to its zenith, Tristan and Cedric prepared to embark on their daring mission. The time had

 come to cross the lake, to confront the very embodiment of darkness and rescue their beloved queen.

In the shadows of the night, whispers of their arrival reached the nomad city, where Aric and his loyal warriors stood vigil, awaiting the impending clash of destiny. United by their shared determination and unwavering spirit, the nomads and the exiles were about to converge, their paths converging in a battle that would shape the fate of the twin cities and all who dwelled within them.

Twin Cities Chapter 1

Playing around with AI writing I asked it to tell a story based on notes I wrote down from a dream. Not as good as when I give more detailed prompts but not too bad.

Chapter One: The Nomad King's Vision

 

The sun blazed overhead, casting its golden rays across the vast plains where the nomad king, Aric, and his loyal followers roamed. As they set up camp for the night, laughter echoed through the air, accompanied by the savory aroma of roasted meat.

 

"Tell us, Aric," one of the nomads, a jovial fellow named Jaxon, exclaimed, "how did you come to possess such an uncanny ability to sense evil?"

 

Aric chuckled, his weathered face illuminated by the campfire's glow. "Ah, my friends, it's a gift passed down through generations of my nomadic lineage. Legend has it that an ancient ancestor once stared down a wicked sorcerer and, in that moment, developed the ability to sense darkness."

 

The nomads exchanged amused glances, their eyes twinkling with curiosity. "So, you're saying you come from a long line of heroic fortune tellers?" quipped a sharp-tongued nomad named Lyra.

 

Aric laughed heartily. "Perhaps not fortune tellers, but certainly defenders of the light! Besides, it comes in handy when we're up against nefarious foes like the evil king across the lake."

 

Their laughter subsided as Aric's expression grew serious. "My friends, I've had a vision. The darkness emanating from across the lake grows stronger, and I fear it won't be long before the evil king's tyranny reaches our lands. We must act."

 

The nomads exchanged glances, their determination mirrored in their eyes. They knew that Aric's visions were never to be taken lightly. Jaxon clapped a hand on Aric's shoulder. "Then we'll build a city! A sanctuary for our people, where the light will shine bright and the evil king's shadows won't dare to tread!"

 

Aric nodded, gratitude swelling within him. "Indeed, my friend. We shall construct a city that will stand as a beacon of hope. Together, we will protect our people from the clutches of darkness."

 

And so, their plans took shape. The nomads worked tirelessly, their hands transforming the barren plains into a bustling construction site. They laughed, they sang, and they marveled at the camaraderie that bound them together. Each night, gathered around the campfire, they shared tales of adventure, weaving legends of heroes and mythical creatures that made their spirits soar.

 

One evening, as the moon hung high in the sky, Aric sat beside the crackling fire, deep in thought. Jaxon noticed his leader's pensive expression and nudged him playfully. "What's on your mind, O' Wise Nomad King?"

 

Aric smiled, his eyes distant yet filled with determination. "I envision a city with towering walls, adorned with magnificent tapestries that tell the tales of our people's courage. Streets lined with bustling marketplaces, where laughter and trade fill the air. And a grand hall, where justice shall be meted out and unity shall thrive."

 

Jaxon chuckled. "And let's not forget a legendary tavern, where heroes gather to swap stories over a flagon of ale!"

 

Aric's eyes gleamed mischievously. "Ah, Jaxon, ever the one with a thirst for adventure and merriment. Very well, a legendary tavern it shall be, where the spirit of our people shall flow as freely as the rivers that carve through our lands."

 

The laughter and banter continued late into the night, carrying the hopes and dreams of the nomads on the wind. In that moment, they forged a bond that would endure the trials yet to come, for they were more than mere wanderers. They were a family, united by a shared...sense of purpose and an unyielding determination to protect their homeland.

 

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months as the nomads toiled tirelessly, their city gradually taking shape. The walls rose high, sturdy and imposing, while the sound of hammers echoed through the streets, blending with the laughter and camaraderie that filled the air. Market stalls sprung up, each one showcasing the vibrant tapestry of nomadic life, where exotic spices, handmade crafts, and treasures from distant lands enticed passersby.

 

One evening, as dusk settled over the bustling city, Aric climbed to the highest point of the walls, gazing out across the landscape. He marveled at what they had achieved—a sanctuary to shield their people from the encroaching darkness.

 

Lyra, her face smudged with dirt and sweat from a day of labor, approached Aric. "Aric, it's truly incredible. The city we've built, the unity we've forged... it's unlike anything I could have imagined."

 

Aric nodded, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Indeed, Lyra. We've come a long way. But our true test lies ahead. The evil king will not rest until he snuffs out the light we've kindled. We must be prepared."

 

As if on cue, Jaxon appeared, his boisterous voice carrying across the winds. "Prepared, you say? Well, Aric, we've got more than just a city to defend now. We've got legends to live up to, songs to sing, and ale to drink!"

 

Aric chuckled, grateful for Jaxon's lightheartedness. "Ah, Jaxon, you never let the weight of the world dampen your spirits."

 

Jaxon grinned, raising an eyebrow mischievously. "Well, Aric, if you're going to be the stoic leader, someone's got to keep the smiles on our faces! Besides, what's a city without a healthy dose of merriment?"

 

Their banter was interrupted by the clattering of hooves and the dust clouds rising in the distance. A messenger, haggard from the journey, raced toward them. "Nomad King! Urgent news!" he shouted, dismounting with a flourish.

 

Aric's eyes narrowed, sensing the gravity of the situation. "Speak, messenger. What news do you bring?"

 

"The evil king's forces are advancing, Your Highness," the messenger gasped, catching his breath. "They march toward our city, seeking to snuff out the light and plunge our lands into darkness."

 

Aric's jaw tightened, his resolve hardening. "Prepare the army! We shall defend our city with every fiber of our being. Send word to our allies across the lake, let them know that we stand united against this tyranny."

 

As the messenger hurried off to fulfill his duty, Lyra placed a hand on Aric's shoulder, her eyes reflecting unwavering loyalty. "We are with you, Aric. We've come too far to let the evil king prevail."

 

Jaxon stepped forward, his voice filled with determination. "And let's not forget, we've got a legendary tavern to defend! No evil king is going to take away our ale!"

 

Aric's lips curled into a smile, appreciating the unwavering spirit of his comrades. "Yes, my friends, together we shall face this darkness head-on. For we are not just a city of stone and mortar. We are a beacon of hope, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. Let the evil king come, for he shall witness the might and unity of the nomad army."

 

The night fell, casting a blanket of anticipation over the city.

 

 The fires burned bright, illuminating the determined faces of the nomad warriors as they prepared to face the impending storm. Aric, standing atop the walls, peered into the distance, his gaze fixed on the silhouette of the evil king's forces.

 

In the face of adversity, their bond remained unbreakable. They were the nomads, the defenders of light, and they would rise together to protect their newfound sanctuary, ready to face the battles that awaited them in the days to come.