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Weekly Contest #338
The book insulted him before he realised it could talk. “Ah. Dirt road. Again,” it muttered from inside his pack. “Bold choice, Boots. Nothing says destiny like ankle-deep mud and a quick escape route.” Edrin stopped. Mist clung to the hills like breath held too long. A crow startled off a fence post. For a heartbeat, Edrin wondered if exhaustion had finally tipped him into hallucination. He reached back and pulled the book free. Edrin did not look like the sort of wizard stories remembered. He was thin rather than imposing, his shoulders sl...
Weekly Contest #337
Nova named the rocks. Not because she was sentimental, but because no one else would. The ridge she climbed every morning for signal range was Mother’s Spine — a long, jagged curve like a sleeping serpent. The dark crater beyond it was Father’s Silence. The line of crystalline trees she passed daily? Ghost Choir. She logged them all in her journal. Not the station logs. Hers. Her parents would’ve hated that. Her father would’ve corrected her pronunciation. Her mother would’ve logged it properly anyway. They believed in proper protocols. GPS ...
Weekly Contest #335
The wizard had been walking for so long that even the road had forgotten his name. He wore no sigils now, no bright robes or staff crowned with jewels. Just a travel-cloak patched more times than he could remember, boots worn thin by centuries of patient wandering. In taverns, they called him Hedge-mage, or Old Bright, or nothing at all. He preferred nothing. Magic was quieter when you did not demand it to announce you. He was crossing the salt flats east of Greywater when the raven found him. It landed on a mile-marker stone that predated e...
Weekly Contest #334
“Don’t talk to strangers,” Matron Gribble warned, thumping Gribnock on the back with a ladle crusted in turnip paste. “And if one offers you gold, it’s either cursed, fake, or about to explode.” Gribnock nodded solemnly. He even repeated it back to her. “Don’t talk to gold, explode the curse, curse the fake—” “Close enough,” she sighed. Exactly twenty-three minutes later, he joined a gang of strangers who were planning a gold heist. So really, he tried. The plan was “flawless,” according to Gribnock the Green, who had drawn it on the back o...
Once upon a time, in a half-collapsed ruin that smelled like burnt rat and broken promises, a goblin and a kobold reached for the same silver spoon. Zruk’s grubby green fingers froze an inch from it. So did Kippi’s claw. They stared at each other over the dull gleam of the utensil, both crouched like criminals in a pantry, neither blinking. The spoon sat alone on a velvet pedestal in the centre of the stone room, bathed in a beam of light that came from nowhere and smelled faintly of judgment. Zruk hissed through his teeth. “I touched it fir...
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