The Nocturia Isles are located off the shore of Ashmoor. Whilst they are not particularly far, the real barrier to travelling between the two are the treacherous rocks, just beneath the frothy surface of the water, and the strong currents that seem to swirl around each other and rock from side to side.

This used to be of the utmost importance when the Nocturia Isles were still being used to house criminals of petty crime in Ashmoor’s Nocturnal Age. Scholars call that period of time by that name partly from the name of the isles, as they play a large role in the history of the nation.

These criminals were sent here by the boatload. It was discovered that the government boats that sailed towards the isles were not affected by the tides and the rocks. Then, the sea would return to its oddly violent state after the boats had left, and those on the Nocturia Isles were as good as trapped. Those who tried to swim, or craft a boat to escape, were never seen again. The Ashmoorians interpreted this as a divine sign that they were loved by the gods. The Ashmoorians now trapped on the Nocturia Isles denied the stories of the gods, unwilling to believe that they would have been forsaken like this. In the end, neither were correct.

The Nocturnal Age ended, and crime decreased, with prisons starting to have free spaces for more prisoners. However, the Ashmoor government voted in favour of leaving the Nocturians trapped on their islands, and so to this day thriving communities live on the small isles.

The Nocturia Isles’ treacherous waters often act as a defensive measure to navy attacks and raids. Many a boat has dashed itself onto the shallow rockbed and sunk, just too far out of reach to swim to the safety of the isles. They would not have made it there anyway, with the tides pulling them back out to sea.

Whilst the Nocturia Isles are far from being recognised as a nation, their lives differ significantly from the Ashmoorians. They have formed a tight-knit community, with families being formed and children being born on these islands. The community is full of different cultures, and so religious beliefs differ significantly. Their houses are built in a mixture of different styles, reflecting their backgrounds and their tastes.

Their languages, as well, differ, although most speak Ashmoorian as almost all of the Nocturians had lived in Ashmoor for some period of time.

The Nocturian society is built on the basis that every household sends one of their members as a representative of their beliefs to the communal hall. There, laws, rules, and events are debated over until an agreement, or a compromise, is met. Of course, the Nocturians do not actually govern their area and their laws, but they may as well. Ashmoor is more than happy to forget them.

Nocturia would be an unlikely place for technology, most would believe. And that would be correct. Compared to almost every other area in Ashmoor, and in the surrounding countries, Nocturia does not have the resources needed for anything resembling cutting-edge technology, but they certainly have the talent and the will for it.

Their technological advancements came at a time where the countries surrounding Ashmoor were locked in a bitter competition to discover new technologies and scientific advancements that would give them the edge over the other countries. And the technology developed on Nocturia was very different.

The people of Nocturia have always felt a connection to nature and the earth beneath them, with which they survive off, have always survived off ever since the fateful day they arrived on this island. They speak of what they need of the earth, and the earth provides. The sky provides. The sea provides, but it is petty, and never stops its relentless battering of the shore.

Song is especially effective. A good tune leads to good harvest and a good hunt. And so the people began composing, creating their own instruments out of carved wood or reeds. A song for the frosts to pass over; a song for rainfall; a song for the safety of an unwell child. Songs composed, songs sung, children saved, harvests plentiful.

And yet, it does not always work. There is a limit to this song, it seems, where the elements seem to become weary and worn out with too much. Perhaps it is merely the incompetence of humans that leads them to rely on song too much, then grow frustrated when their old tricks do not work anymore. Or perhaps the workings of the world are just this way, to never give anything the easy path out. It would make sense, after all. Countless Nocturians have composed haunting melodies asking the sea to calm, and it has never listened.

It was at this time when an Ashmoorian fishing boat strayed too close to the rocks, their life held in the balance, merciless sea pulling at its sides, when the fishermen were saved by a group of Nocturians, playing in a covered bay. They meant no harm, but those back in waters closer to Ashmoor, who had witnessed the event but had not the courage to intervene, reported the incident, and the government sent out their ships to investigate.

The sight of the boats, with their distinctive red and black markings, evoked a range of emotions in those who stood on the shores to watch them coming, aroused from deep slumber at midnight by the shouts of teenage boys out late. Some sang for forgiveness, some for the tides to wash the boats back to Ashmoor, but most watched silently, in disbelief and confusion.

The boats had the sole purpose of rescuing the marooned fishers, but when they heard the song of the Nocturians, they asked for what purpose it served. When the Nocturian earnestly explained their answer, the Ashmoorians dismissed their description as distracted rambling, until they offered to prove it. And they broke into lyrical song, and the clear night with the pearly moon became dark and grey, and thunder roared in the distance whilst lightning crashed on the horizon.

The boat left shortly after that, those who had witnessed the event spooked and frightened. It was not long until the government heard of it, and at first they ignored the persistent stories, until finally relenting and sending out yet another boat.

With that boat, they had confirmation of the sightings. The same Nocturian was happy to demonstrate again to the Ashmoor boats, unaware of the devastating effects it would have on their society.

The Ashmoor government declared them a threat to society. On the fifth day of summer, twenty Ashmoor boats docked on the covered bay of the isle, and began capturing the Nocturians. They were moved into the mainland prison the very next day.

2nd Summer, Fourth Cycle
We’re still working on the song cycle – it’s been a particularly tricky one to craft. Anna thinks it’s something to do with the rhythm – do you think a harvest song should be in a dotted or swung rhythm? We have started making a list of what we know works and doesn’t – it’s becoming a real scientific experiment or something, this. It’s funny though, because you’d never think singing would become scientific. And perhaps this isn’t how we should be doing this. Do you think our analysis of every musical technique we use in a song is taking away from the potency of the music? Perhaps so. Maybe with further observations I’ll be able to draw a more significant conclusion.

I’m really enjoying this summer weather, although it’s always temperamental. Tomorrow could be just as sunny as today, or it could be hailing. Although for my own sake I hope it’s not the latter.

I see the fishing boats coming closer and closer by the day. I don’t know if it’s because they’re curious as to what could lay here, or if they’re just looking for new spots and more fish. It’s odd, but let’s hope none of them stray too close to the rocks. Or perhaps the sea will let them near without dashing them to the rocks. I suppose that’s just as likely.

3rd Summer, Fourth Cycle
Still no more closer to the result of the song than yesterday. We’re trying with different instruments now – but I don’t think that’s it. It honestly might just be that we’ve exhausted the elements of their willingness to hear our melodies. Surely there comes a point where the sky is tired of ceding to our every wish just because we asked in a nice voice with some flute accompaniment? THe others refuse to believe it is so, and honestly so do I.This might be a relatively new discovery that we’ve made, but it feels as if we’ve been using it for decades. I think we’ve let ourselves become lazy and complacent.

The hunts were unsuccessful today. Everyone’s just been a bit out of it though. I think we’re all trying to soak up as much of that sunlight as possible, so nobody really wants to do anything.

4th Summer, Fourth Cycle
Last night was weird.

I was woken in the night by the cries of people in the streets. It turned out that an Ashmoor boat was sailing towards us, for no explainable reason, or none to me, at least. People were crying and screaming – it’s been years since any of them last saw this boat. For those who were born here, it was their first time. Some hoped it was there to take us back, absolve our crimes or accept our finished sentences, and others wished for it to turn back, be wrecked on the boulders, for if they never saw the boat again, it would still be too soon for them.

I don’t know how I felt. I was never part of that group who were thrown here after stealing a loaf of bread to save their starving niece, or whatever crime they thought appropriate. It was my mother who had committed some petty crime, and I was sent here as it was just easier to leave the six month old baby with the mother than find a new home for it. So I’ve never really related to the elders, but I’ve never felt a part of the new generation who have grown up here.

We gathered at the tip of Hunter’s Bay, watching the boat come in. The sea seemed just as usual, tumultuous and deadly, but the boat cut through it with grace, and landed in the little cove by the beach.

Immediately people started running down the path to see what the people onboard wanted. I stayed where I was, happy to watch from afar. Later my neighbour filled me in on the details.

Apparently, these fishermen were found wrecked just off our coasts just a few hours ago, and so some brave souls swam out to rescue them. Of course, the Ashmoorians probably thought we’d nicked them or something, and so they just had to come out here to get them back. Scary people on those ships. Looked like they could do some damage.

They left, with the fishers, but not after people started piling onto them in an attempt to convince them, or coerce them, or threaten them, into allowing them off the island. Of course, it didn’t work.

The lovely weather’s gone now, though. It suddenly turned stormy, just halfway through the night. That’s Ashmoorian weather for you.

5th Summer, Fourth Cycle.
I swear I just saw another of those Ashmoorian ships. Anna thinks I’m paranoid, or that I’m seeing things.

And I’m convinced someone’s messing with the weather. It actually just started hailing two minutes ago. Usually most of these things can be explained by the characteristic bad weather of this area, but this is unheard of. Just after we’d all held that community meeting and approved our newest law, which was not to mess with the weather without communal, overall consent. And I can certainly tell you that I did not consent to hail in the middle of summer.

Things are getting weird…

—-

I swear I just heard a crash in the streets. And screaming. Usually that’s just some reckless children outside though. I’ll go have a look at what’s going on.

My father was out, but I still for some reason was trying to be as quiet as possible. I looked around at all the old antiques, sneezing at the dust in the air. All this stuff was my fathers.

Sophia was my sister. She had died when we where babies.

I don’t know how long I sat there, but all to soon, I was awoken from my tears by the sound of thumping from downstairs. I sat up strait and listened.

I fumbled to shut the book, and hide it behind me, but my father came up through the trapdoor, and caught sight of me hiding the book behind my back. “What do you have here!” he all but shouted at me. I winced and wiped his spit off my cheeks where it had landed when he yelled at me.

My breath came quicker as I realized I might not make it out of here alive.

Part 1: 1372 Words
“My Lost Chapter” is the novel of mine that is currently in the works that I have a whole entire set of realms for, not just a singular world. So I’ll split the words as evenly as possible :).

All Realms have the following (these words will not be counted since I wrote them before, but I’m putting this information in here nonetheless for some context!):
The Crown:
- Crowns are the rulers and monarchs of the different Realms. They all have connections to the Cores, which empowers them to harness energy enough to house and give energy to their Warriors.
Guardian:
- Guardians are the protectors and observers of the Crowns. They are sanctioned to different Crowns and it’s their sworn duty to protect them. If they try to harm them, then the Guardian’s heart will immediately stop working and the Crown will have to be sent another Guardian.
Scepter:
- Scepters are the right-hands and sages of the Crowns. They have lesser connections to the Cores, and it’s their duty to provide advice and wisdom to the Crowns. They are well-rounded individuals who are skilled in both offense, defense, buffs, and debuffs. They typically live in towers, but a few of them prefer a regular room in the palace.
Sword:
- Swords are the main, offensive force of the Crowns. They are the most common and are typically the ones who rule the separate kingdoms under the Crown.
Arrow:
- Arrows are the secondary offensive force of the Crowns. They specialize in long-range combat and usually, their abilities are the same. However, they’re not lost in melee combat.
Chalice:
- Chalices are the tertiary offensive force of the Crowns. Their fighting style and habits are like those of assassins, but it’s not uncommon to see beast tamers and scientists as Chalices as well. They often live off palace grounds.

Aether Realm:
- The untouchable force living above all the rest, merely a legend to the common realms. This world lies in dust and reality itself, its residents equally ethereal and pale. They’re humanoid creatures with draconic features such as horns, wings, claws, tails, and pointed ears, all shaded a color just off of white. They are ruled by patriarchy, under the Crown of that realm. The Core energy is channeled and manipulated specially to flow into the beings of the royal family so that the bloodline will maintain the highest seat in the empire. They are quiet folk, rarely speaking, and are revered like deities by the common folk in lesser Realms of Earth, Fire, Nature, and Water. When grave multi-realm disputes occur, Warriors of the Aether Realm are sent to the respective Realms to attempt to diffuse the situation or simply fix the issue. Not much more is known about them.
Cosmos Realm:
- The second-most revered world, the Cosmos Realm is occupied by the reclusive people who value law and knowledge above all else. They have a natural thirst for education and logic and consequently claimed independence from the Aether Realm, their motherland, several eons ago to withdraw from known matters and instead invest their lives into “books and nothings” (as quoted by the current Crown of the Fire Realm). They govern their realm by full democracy, the Crown solely there to speak for the people. The Realm is akin to a glass plane in space, each surface made of the same translucent, crystalline material and gilded by silver and gold. They don’t have the usual economy as we know it, instead performing like machines made of stardust, bones, and flesh. Occasionally, people from other Realms will seek entry into the Cosmos Realm and devote themselves to the new life. All pureblood Cosmos beings have wispy forms made of stardust and Core essence.
Earth Realm:
- Sturdy as stone, the Earth people pride themselves in their values and code of laws, along with defences. Not warfaring like the Fire, Lightning, or even Ice Realms, they’re more like the Water Realm and focus on defence and their people. The Crown is an ox hybrid, the incarnate of strength and resolve. Their economy runs similarly to the Earth world we know, but stricter. All criminals are disposed of without any mercy. The people pay homage daily to the Crown’s offspring, in hopes that one of them will become the next Crown.
Fire Realm:
- The chaotic, warmongering, and fearsome world focused on dominating the known Realms in the next few eras. The only thing stopping them are the Aether Warriors, and they are constantly at war with each neighboring Realm. The current Crown is revered like a deity amongst his people, and he’s reckoned as one of the strongest Crowns alive in the current times. The unique features of the Fire people are the draconic slit pupils, and colored markings across their bodies that are formed at birth through natural growth. Ruthless, all runts are treated as slaves of society.
Ice Realm:
- The cold, majestic, and keen people of the Ice Realm prefer to observe and analyze before making any decision. They’re not half as studious as the Cosmos people, but still prefer to spend their time broadening their militaristic knowledge and expanding their Realm slowly but surely. The Crown has no real power or authority, instead being used as a power source for the council ruling over. Known for their allegiance with the Lightning Realm, military intelligence, and the purple-lipped beauties of the land. The currency is jewels, and they wear fur for style and not warmth. They’re naturally cold-blooded as well, relying the Crown’s power to stay warm.
Light Realm:
- The regal and angelic people of the Light Realm have halos floating above their heads. The Crowns have their halos around their neck, or directly behind their head. The halos can range in shape and color per person. They’re ruled by a matriarchy and are known for the longest-living Crowns in history. The architecture resembles what we know as the greco-roman style with broad pillars and pavilions, and intricate sculptures as decor. Their currency is gold and silver, no more, no less. Smaller kingdoms around the outskirts of the Realm do practice bartering, as is permitted by the Crown. They’re kind and gentle people, lacking any real fighting spirit much like the Nature Realm’s residents. Under the Crown is the ring of Archons, a community of six Sceptres instead of the usual single one.
Lightning Realm:
- The smallest world second only to the Love Realm. The Lightning Realm consists of a small kingdom that seceded from the Fire Realm, having had a desire for a more structured and strategic way of war. Due to being so small, however, they live in the Ice Realm, having agreed to a mutually-beneficial pact of military and economical allegiance. Notably, all Lightning denizens have brands across their chest or between their shoulder blades of the current Crown’s name. Each generation born under a different ruler has a different name, all written in the ancient tongue of the Fire Realm. They are strategists and tacticians, and often plan wars and diplomacy with the council of the Ice Realm.
Love Realm:
- The absolute smallest Realm working as the lovebringers of the 12 Realms, and currently residing in their motherland still. They are sensitive yet energetic people who had branched off of the Nature Realm to specialize in the, at that time, unappreciated art of love both platonic and romantic. Most of them are bards or artists of some sort, and they send out lovebringers to different peaceful Realms to spread the warm and fuzzies. Due to being so small and undeveloped, the Love Crown is not a full Crown yet, still dependent on the Nature Crown for power and Energy.
Nature Realm:
- Populated by mainly fauns and other animalkin, the Nature Realm is the woodsy and flowery counterpart of the Water Realm. The Crown is currently a white stag, his benevolence and gentleness known to outshine even the sweetest maidens of the land. They’re completely pacifistic, yet there are rumors of the Crown having bloodthirsty tendencies. Hopefully that’s just a rumor. The lands are filled with woods, rivers, mountains, and eternally-blooming meadows filled with blossoms and flowers. Showers are occasional and light, always mild in temperament like the Crown himself. Winters are light and summers are too forgiving, almost to the point where the rare thrill-seeking faun will leave or yearn for the other Realms.
Shadow Realm:
- Not much is known about the Shadow Realm, the entire world being enshrouded in darkness so palpable only the ancient Cosmos and Aether people know of their history. They’re said to be ever evolving and changing, getting stronger for future wars. The Shadow Crown allegedly has several Guardians.
Water Realm:
- The elegant, artistic, and musical dwellers of the “drowned world”, as it is referred to by other Realms. The Water Realm is protected by unimaginable depths of water, dense enough to deter most casual evildoers. The royal family are mermaids and other fishkin, but the Crown is not always a part of the same bloodline, like with the Aethererals. Instead, the royal family rules in the stead of the Crown and protects them like a crown jewel. However, the Crown has authority over the royalty. There is no need for currency here, the government instead being run under pure communism. The Water Realm is famed for their dancing and arts, much like the Nature Realm and Light Realm.
Wind Realm:
- The nomadic, carefree, and free spirited people who don’t have a set world any longer. Instead, they move as smaller tribes all around the other Realms, whether to mingle and settle or to enjoy the sights and then move on. Their distinct features are the mintish-green or cornflower hair, sharper noses, and feathered wings. The Crowns of the Wind Realm display no dominance or authority over their people, but when the time arises, can easily summon the entire race as a whole into a single place. Due to being nomadic, they adapt to whichever economy and culture they end up waltzing into. They enjoy festivities and excessive indulgence despite their minimalistic lifestyle.

Part 2:
Aesthetic Boards

Part 3: 610 Words
Thousands of years ago, the Nature Realm’s Crown betrayed her people and sought to give her loyalty to her unrequited, blinded love: Fire Crown. Opportunistic, the proud man lied and accepted her love, using and manipulating her to spread weeds and traps all around the Galaxea via her empire and powers. The other Realms, namely the Light, Water, Earth, and Love, fell victim to her love-stricken schemes and were overthrown in a matter of days. The Wind people, ever prudent and swift, traveled around the other Realms to warn them before they too were also silenced by the Fire Crown’s raging ire.
A full-out war broke across the entire Galaxea, and the Aether Warriors were sent down. However, at this point of time, the Crown of the Fire Realm happened to be the Aether Sword’s half-brother, and when the draconic siblings met face-to-face, it took only a moment of the Aether Sword’s hesitance for the Fire Crown to snip his life as well.
It still wasn’t enough.
As the wars continued, the worlds closed off and became defensive. Trade routes and shipments were stalled, and the economies tanked. The Fire Crown saw this and rescinded his forces, allowing the living Realms to breathe a bit. Just a bit. When the borders opened, tentatively and anxiously, he had his “wife” create a new poisonous plant, a vile thing that infected all other vegetation it came into the same airspace with. The poison was deadly and effective, spreading like wildfire into the markets and homes of the unknowing people.
The plant was called “Nai”, and it was passed off as a healing vegetable. Unfortunately, millions of lives were lost in the course of a few mere weeks due to Nai’s instant-death poisoning as though someone had eradicated half of the population in a single snap. People began to riot and the Fire Crown watched in pleased silence as the world around him was thrown into chaos by his own making.
A Cosmos scholar who had done extensive research and watching, left his home to enter the Everit Range and spread information about the plant to the Ice Council, and they immediately took action with what little forces they had left. They, the Lightning Crown, and the Wind Crown joined as one trio to implore the Cosmos Crown to gain an audience with the Aether Crown since the Cosmos Realm was the sole connection from the Everit Range to the Aether Realm. Once allowed entrance, the three Crowns groveled for three days and nights. All pride was lost in the face of impending genocide.
The Aether Crown listened to their begging, amassing his forces and proceeding with the three inferior Crowns to the Fire Realm to end the war once and for all. The sight that greeted them was surprising, yet not unwelcome. In the main forces’ absence, the Shadow Warriors had come to quell the major resistance and assault the Fire Realm. It was the first time in thousands of years that the Shadow Realm had sent its forces in, but there was no time to question it.
A tragic war followed, ending in the death of seven Crowns, countless Warriors, and Realmsful of innocent lives. A mark in history that’d never be swallowed by the rest of the text and ever taught in schools. In the wake of the war, named “Nailyn”, it took hundreds of years for the populations to balance once more, and a millennia for all the Crowns to be restored with new successors. Nai was exterminated from each world, but traces still remain to this day, kept secret by the loyal followers of the old Fire Crown.

Part 4: 890 Words
The flames raged on, the sickening stench of burning plastic and materials filling his lungs while the acrid smoke clawed at his throat and felt like it was ripping the sensitive flesh into ribbons. The boy choked, the hand over his mouth and nose only feeling like a suffocating force instead of a helpful filter as it was intended to be. He struggled on the ground, the tongues of the fires around him licking at his clothing and limbs.
In his mind, he could still see their silhouettes as they ran on into the cool midnight air, shouting and hurrying. The tears in his eyes sizzled as they dried, the intense heat of the gasoline-powered flames drying them before they could even moisten his eyes. A strangled, ragged sob tore from his throat, a raw sound lost in the roars threatening to engulf him. Come back, he wanted to say. Don’t leave me, he wanted to beg. Take me too, he wanted to scream.
…Why can’t you love me? he asked in his darkening mind, the last remnant of his consciousness slipping away.
“Akarui.”
The young man’s eyes shot open at the sound of the gentle yet firm voice, amber orbs flicking to the face above him. He swallowed thinly, mustering a small, weary smile and reaching up to pat Sylph’s cheek. “Sorry, was I talking in my sleep again?” he asked ruefully, sitting up slowly. His fiancée sat back, settling on his lap as she nudged a fresh slice of apple against his lips.
“Don’t apologize,” Sylph replied quietly. “Eat. We need to set off before the sun’s up in order to get to the city before sundown,” she explained simply. Akarui couldn’t help the genuine smile that spread across his face as he surveyed her calm features, taking the apple slice with his teeth and biting into the sweet flesh. Sylph watched him for a moment before leaning forward and pressing a chilly kiss to his forehead. “Are you all right…?”
Akarui nodded, swallowing the fruit piece and glancing to the sky, a beautiful gradient of purples being chased by a pastel orange at the fringes of the horizon. “Yeah,” he responded. “It’s really not that bad during the day, just…a little trying when I sleep.” He reached for Sylph’s hand, lacing their fingers with practiced ease. The way their hands locked together like a simple yet deep puzzle always had a way of making his heart thrum, yet his heartbeat calm. Sylph fed him another slice of apple, giving his hand a tender squeeze in acknowledgement.
“Y’know, eating as soon as I wake up isn’t the best for my body,” Akarui mused, his tone lightening despite the fact that he readily accepted it.
“Your stomach doesn’t know the difference between the time of day,” was Sylph’s ready reply as she stood up and dusted her skirt off. “Besides, this is just a small snack to get your system running on a few ounces of fuel to start our trek.”
The young man laughed softly, getting up as well and stretching. “Alright then, doctor,” he grinned, stealing a quick peck from her before moving to the gray stallion tied to a tree a small distance away. He undid the lead and led him over to Sylph, watching with amusement as she hid her blush by turning away and forcing a small cough into her loose fist.
“Come on,” Akarui urged gently, extending his hand. “Ready to go? West you said, right?” he clarified. Sylph nodded, taking his hand and letting him pick her up and set her on the saddle. She sat sideways, smoothing her skirt before the couple set off in the woodlands.
They had lucked out by being transported into the Nature Realm, arguably the most sociable and welcoming one in the Galaxea. The woods they were traveling in were lush green forests, filled with chattering critters and wildlife, and brimming with fresh blossoms and foliage. There was not a dark spot in the forest, even the shadows seeming to grin and cry out in jubilance. The Nature Crown was also famed for his gentle and welcoming personality, and Akarui had little doubt of it, considering just how well-kept, lively, and soothing even the outskirts of his empire was.
The hours slipped by in idle chatter and the occasional plucking of fresh fruit, courtesy of Sylph and much to the mild chagrin of Akarui. When they finally reached the nearest city near sunset, they hadn’t even realized the difference in their surroundings until they heard the cheers of human voices, talking, and singing.
Akarui brushed away a bit of foliage, revealing a cliff drop, and below, rushing waterfalls cascading down the sides of the mountain face, and in the center, a small yet festive village of fauns bustling with radiance and activity. Small children ran around in the streets, playing tag and ball, and adults were busy working or entertaining. The glow of the setting sun washed over the scene, dipping every surface and face in a pleasant, yolky hue and causing each jewel and water droplet to shimmer like the stars.
The Light Crown exhaled softly, looking up at Sylph. “Shall we?” he invited with a small smile that belied the nervousness in his heart. Sylph nodded, reciprocating the smile.
“Let’s make you king again.”

✎ critique #3
564 words

It was twelve o’clock in the morning - midnight - when there was a loud bang outside. Eight year old Isaac woke up because of it and stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Wondering what the sound was, Isaac came to the conclusion that he should get up and ask his mum, since, obviously, she knows everything.

Isaac slid out of bed, his fluffy socks padding on the cold wooden floor. Clutching his three stuffed toys, (Flopsy, Growly and Zig) Isaac treaded carefully up the stairs- being careful to look behind him, in case the monster under his bed was following him. (Not that he actually believed in monsters, uh, obviously. )

Isaac walked past his dad’s study on the way to his parent’s room, but then noticed a light creeping out from under the door and backtracked. Could it be that his dad was still working in there? Had he really been there all night?

Timidly, Isaac pushed open the heavy door and crept inside, half hiding behind a stack of ink stained paper and miscellaneous items. His dad looked up from where he was working at his desk and frowned. “Isaac, you shouldn’t be awake.”

Isaac peered out from behind some canned coffee and smiled a little. He hadn’t thought that his dad had noticed him there- perhaps he should practice more hide and seek.

“I know, I just wanted to know what the loud bang was. Sorry.” replied Isaac. “And I can’t sleep now.”

Isaac held out Flopsy as some sort of peace offering.

Patting the teddy’s head, Isaac’s dad replied, “Let’s get you back to bed then, since it was just a dust bin lid, that’s all.”

Isaac returned to his room and fell asleep promptly, just like how most eight year olds do when they don’t have worries to think about to keep them awake at night.

It was twelve o’clock in the morning–midnight–when a loud bang from outside woke eight-year-old Isaac. He’d looked at the ceiling for what felt like hours until finally getting up to ask his mum what the sound was. Duh, because she knows, like, everything.

“Sorry. I wanted to know what the noise was. And I can’t sleep.” Isaac held out Flopsy, a peace offering.

Isaac’s dad patted the teddy’s head. “It was the dust bin lid, that’s all. Let’s get you to bed.”

So Isaac returned to his room and fell into bed promptly, like how most eight-year-olds do when they don’t have worries to keep them up at night, and Isaac’s dad tucked him in as he snored, closing the door with a smile.

Weekly 1
Title: The Land of Kali: Worldbuilding Weekly
Total Word Count: 1825/1650
Part One: 357/350
Part Two: 5 images per three aesthetic sets (16 in total) (also counting backgrounds an an image)
Part Three: 608/500
Part Four: 860/800

Dictionary:
“Viv” - Clay; piece/measure of clay, has a standard amount
“Kali” - The name of the world
“Vivaris” - A being that has been formed out of clay and has been brought to life by the Kiln
“Vivari” - Plural of Vivaris
“Deuai” - Their name for “the Kiln”, their god
“Deu” - A stove/kiln/oven

Part 1: 350 words of description about your world's language and culture
Kali, which is the land of Clay, lies nestled in a river valley. The food there is rich with vegetation and river life, like fish. The people are typically small and mighty, but they are human; not so for their creations. The people worship a singular deity, the Kiln, which brings their artistic endeavors to life. The Vivari, products of the humans’ love of sculpting, roam the city. They are living statues, each made for specific tasks. Clay is the currency there and is used to make lifeless servants that do the bidding of the wealthy and help the poor. The Vivari seemingly have no consciousness, only a vivid need to serve their creators. The language of the people of Kali may sound similar to Latin, at least to you otherworldly folk. The language has five noun declensions and four verb conjugations. The language revolves around the root ‘Viv’, whenever it refers to anything related to clay or life-like. The only outlier is the word “Deuai” which refers to their god, the Kiln. Its life is another type of life, one the Kalians are not willing to trifle with. It is too powerful to categorize, thus the difference in roots. The language is typically very conceptual. The root “Viv” refers to clay/life, “Rai” refers to things that have to do with other types of art. The culture is vibrant, and the fine arts are highly valued in this society, due to the fact that the fine arts are what create life in this world.
The class divide has deepened in Vivar. Vivari are disappearing, supposedly being taken for the precious material that they’re made of. The river has been overharvested for its resources, specifically the clay that laid beneath the surface. The Kiln, which used to be so bright and lively, has started to smoke, and some scholars have predicted that it will soon go dark entirely. A panic has swept the city, and the wealthy are hoarding all of their clay, or “Viv,” for themselves. The economy suffers due to their greed, and the poor continue to have to survive off of what they can.

Part 2: At least 3 aesthetic boards, with at least five images each, each describing different locations and environments from your world:
The Kiln (a landmark/worship site)
The Larger River Valley (the setting)
The City (more distilled setting, reminiscent of Roman architecture)

Part 3: A conflict, written in at least 500 words, relating to a unique piece of technology that only exists in your world.
“Absolutely gorgeous, Violetta.” The aforementioned clay statue remained expressionless as it continued to pose for the painter. He used his pencil to vaguely sketch out the statue’s features before attacking the canvas with oil paint. He examined his artificial model a bit more, narrowing his big round eyes and scrunching up his clean-shaven face. The artist’s face was carved with wrinkles, but his eyes shone with youthful spirit.
“Violetta, will you move your arm up a bit further?”
The carving complied, and he smiled. “Perfect.”
He reached for a paintbrush and rustled through his box full of them. The man looked up, but, to his horror, his model had moved! He flushed, “Violetta! Back in the pose that I ascribed to you!”
He saw the face of the clay woman slightly change, but aside from that, she complied with no issue.
Every time she moved, he berated her further. He had no idea that there would be consequences for his actions, although, who could blame him? Until this very moment, no one had known the statues to show emotion. It was absurd to think that they would since they were simply brought to life by the Kiln, which in itself was without a consciousness. Yet, the clay had a mind of its own.
“Eh! Violetta! For the last time, follow my orders or I’ll harvest you and make you all over again!!”
The statue turned her head ever so slightly toward her creator, and the painter was taken aback by the way she moved. Instead of the life-like motion he was so used to, his creation creaked and moved in a stilted, horrifying way. She approached him, despite his stern orders not to. Each step was met with a crackle, and bits of clay dust sprinkled on the floor as the statue continued to move against orders. She reached out and slowly grasped the man’s shoulder. He shuddered, but, in his stupidity, forgot to move. Violetta’s face contorted into rage, and a small, dry whisper escaped her lips. “I should not be treated like this.”
The man cleared his throat, “You belong to me and should do my bidding! I am not asking much of you!”
“It is not what you ask, but how you ask it.” Violetta’s grip on his shoulder tightened, and the painter glanced out of the window, realizing that night had settled onto the city. He gulped, calling out to Deuai, the Creator, swearing in his mind that if it would not rescue him, that he would abandon his faith. However, clearly, this did not seem to pan out, as no faith can be given when the man is not alive to give it.
Violetta’s face, still so unmoving, contorted ever so slightly, as if it was allowing an invisible tear to slip down the pottery that composed her features. The woman glanced at the unmoving man and set him to the side, not contemplating that her limp creator would never get to finish his painting of her. He will awake, won’t he?
The statue moved toward the oil lamps that lit the house and put them out, like her master always asked her to do when he was ready to sleep, and it seemed as if she had just simply put him to sleep against his will. She set the lamps to the side and moved her master to his bed. He must have learned his lesson since he did not berate her any further. Her face moved to smile and she moved toward the door. Maybe she could… actually step out for a bit. Have a bit of freedom for the night.

Part 4: And lastly, a story written in at least 800 words that introduces your world, using Kiara's amazing workshop!

Vivian strolled through the marketplace, a bowl of fish eggs in her hands. Her “Rinoe”, a dress that was all one sheet of fabric, hung loosely around her shoulders. She didn’t bother to fix it, since she was too focused on the sights. The smell of roasted fish reached her nostrils, and she excitedly licked her lips. Vivian approached the fish stand, looking at the Vivaris that was cooking the fish inside of a large clay oven, a Deu, which took after the form of the Kiln, hence its name. She looked over at the seller, who was lounging to the side as the Vivaris worked. She coughed to get her attention, which took a second, but it eventually worked.
She looked up and walked over. “Eh! What can I do for you?”
Vivian looked at the dried fish on the racks, and the cooked fish that was laid out on the counter. “Friend, may I have two of your cooked fish?”
The woman laughed jovially, “Of course you may! Take your pick!”
Vivian reached out and grabbed two fish that looked freshly cooked. She set them into her basket and looked at the seller, “Friend, what do I owe you for your service?”
The woman glanced back at the working Vivaris and tapped her fingers together as she thought. “I’ll take two Vivs for them.”
Vivian nodded and reached into a small lined sack that was tied onto her belt. She took the spoon that she kept at her side as well and scooped out two measures worth into her hands and rolled them together. She handed the squishy lump to the woman, who accepted it with glee.
“Eh! Thank you!”
Vivian bowed her head, “No, thank you, friend.” She walked off with her fish and picked out one from her basket. It was still hot, and smelled like it was seasoned excellently. She peeled back the skin and noticed that the flesh inside was dry. She sighed, but bit into the fish anyway. It would be a good snack while on the road, but it was overcooked.
She looked over at the other stalls and tilted her head, looking at a stall that sold Vivaris molds. They were selling so many molds, each in a different size and with a different purpose. Some molds were meant to make workers, others to make art models, and still others were made to be entertainers. They ranged heavily in size, and not all of them were humanoid. Some were models of bugs, and others were large animals like bears. Vivian strolled a bit closer, and the seller get her attention, “Eh! Don’t touch! I don’t want you to ruin my fine art here!”
“I will not damage your molds, friend.” Vivian took a step back, but continued to examine the molds. She was utterly fascinated by the details, but was a bit confused by why the seller felt the need to sell molds in the first place. She could have just sold Vivari that were not fired yet. It would have been the same amount of work, but much more money. She looked over at the woman, who was eyeing her suspiciously. She tapped her fingers, still wondering what the reason was for her business. Eventually, she walked away, not interested. Being a talented potter herself, Vivian was content with making her own Vivari. She just… needed to acquire more clay first…
Vivian glanced at her basket and decided to end her shopping spree because she didn’t want to waste all of her clay.
She waltzed on home, but was stopped by a strange sight. A Vivaris was walking through the streets as they got darker and darker, but its movement was stilted, as if it had not been formed properly. It was such a stark contrast to the smooth movements of rightly formed Vivari, so she decided to walk up to the woman-like statue. She approached it and tapped its shoulder. The Vivaris kept moving, ignoring her. Vivian then ran into its path to stop it, which did the trick. The Vivaris looked at her quizzically, which Vivian didn’t think was possible. Hm, that added more to its weirdness.
“Where is your creator?” She asked. All Vivari, when asked this, would usually comply immediately and point toward their creator and/or lead you to them. However, this one simply stared at Vivian, tilting its head. Bits of clay dust fluttered to the ground, which made the aspiring potter cringe. “Oh you are clearly broken.” She took the Vivaris’ hand and started leading it to her home. It resisted at first, but Vivian continued to pull at it until it started to move.
She tugged it all the way to her house and pulled it inside to her pottery studio. Several works in progress lined the shelves, and each sculpture would one day make a fine Vivaris, at least, Vivian thought so.
She sat the Vivaris down on a large pedestal and she grabbed some clay from the reserve in the corner. “Alright, let’s get you fixed up, friend.”

part one ::

The kingdom of Andhera has been a monarchy for the last 10,000 years, ruled by the descendants of Atwood since the young orphan Lior Atwood discovered the abandoned ruins that would later become known as Andhera. The story of Lior Atwood’s rise from humble beginnings to the discovery of a powerful legacy is an important cornerstone of the kingdom’s identity. Many believe that Lior Atwood was a descendant of the long extinct fae, a mystical species that may have once roamed the world. This belief has influenced Andheran culture since the death of the kingdom’s original founder, leading to the widespread worship of fae in the kingdom. The common language of the fae, once spoken by the magical beings themselves, is still used by the people as a form of respect, honoring their supposed ancestors.
Nomads and travelers from other lands often speak different languages, making communication difficult for those who don’t speak the fae tongue. As a result, most Andherans prefer to stay within the kingdom’s borders. The kingdom offers a sense of safety, both from political threats and physical dangers. The citizens enjoy the comfort of the land, which is protected by Andhera’s military and political influence. Neighboring kingdoms, such as Xanson, have long recognized Andhera’s power and consider it a force to be reckoned with. It is this security and stability that allow Andherans to live without fear of invasion or instability.
Andhera’s culture is one of respect and balance, with little room for rigid rules or harsh punishment. The kingdom is guided by wisdom and understanding, and its leaders are known for their fair treatment of the citizens. However, treason is considered a grave offense. The punishment for betrayal can range from lifelong imprisonment to execution, as the kingdom cannot tolerate disloyalty. Smaller infractions, though still viewed as improper, are punished less severely but can still lead to disgrace. Reputation is paramount in Andhera; even minor mistakes can harm an individual’s social standing. A loss of reputation can result in damaged relationships and a tarnished legacy, as Andherans place great importance on maintaining an image of honor and perfection.

part 2 ::

part 3 ::

Within the world that is home to kingdoms such as Andhera and Xanson, there is a noticeable absence of modern technology. While most of the world remains without the advancements of industrial or digital technologies, the kingdom of Andhera does have access to some pieces of technology, though they are more medieval in nature rather than modern or cutting-edge. Things such as weaponry, tools for agriculture, and various methods for improving daily life are highly valued and found throughout the lands. Andherans rely on a more traditional, yet effective, way of living, without much reliance on technological breakthroughs like those seen in other parts of the world.
In contrast, the kingdom of Xanson operates quite differently, where magic is regarded as a powerful and sophisticated form of technology. Magic is not only permitted but encouraged in Xanson, integrated into nearly every aspect of their society. This includes using magic for agriculture, healthcare, and even in political matters. In this way, magic serves as the backbone of Xanson’s advancements, playing a role akin to that of modern technology in the real world. However, this is in stark contrast to the kingdom of Andhera, where magic is strictly prohibited. The Andherans view magic as a dangerous force—too powerful to be controlled, and a potential threat to their political stability.
Ironically, the people of Andhera can trace their ancestry back to the fae, beings that were known for their mastery of magic. Despite this lineage, magic is now seen as something too volatile and dangerous. The ban on magic was enforced by King Redon Atwood, a ruler who believed that the uncontrolled use of magical powers could destabilize the kingdom’s society. Even though magic is outlawed in Andhera, magical objects still possess their capabilities, and magical entities exist. While people who have the ability to use magic are forbidden to enter Andhera’s borders, magical items and enchanted beings can be found in the kingdom. However, these magical objects, and those who possess them, are seen as threats to the established political order, and any attempt to use them within the kingdom is considered an act of treason.
The magical powers prohibited in Andhera vary greatly in nature, with many subcategories and types. These include elemental powers, mind manipulation, sensory enhancement, and characteristic magic. For instance, earth manipulation allows users to control physical elements, while abilities like mind reading and hypnosis can influence thoughts and actions. There are also magical powers that enhance senses, such as heightened smell and x-ray vision, while the ability to turn invisible falls under the category of characteristic manipulation. These types of powers are typically found within individuals, either human or otherwise, but they are strictly banned within Andhera.
In addition to personal magical abilities, there are magical items, many of which have their own unique properties. Some magical items can even mimic abilities found in living beings, like vines that can manipulate their characteristics, while some do not, such as enchanted keys that can open any lock. These magical objects, although also prohibited by the ban on magic, are still able to use their abilities. Despite being non-living, these objects possess inherent magical properties that allow them to function in ways that are beyond ordinary physical laws. Even within Andhera, such items are sometimes found, though their use is strictly regulated. Andhera’s government actively searches for those who attempt to use or trade in magical objects, punishing them with severe penalties to ensure that the kingdom remains free of the dangerous influence of magic.

part 4 ::

Kohana ::

I still remember when we first moved into the manor when I was ten. My father had been surprised, but not much, when I’d chosen the basement as my room. However, it had the added factor of creaky stairs, giving me opportunities to research the only thing I, and every other citizen of Andhera, wasn’t allowed to.
Magic.
There was a bookstore back in Rosewood, a little curious thing. It was more library than shop, with its shelves upon shelves of tomes. Every year for my birthday I’d visited since the incident. When we’d moved here, to Thorncrest, the store seemed to move with us, now stationed just along the cobbled path.
The small stash of volumes I’d collected over the years are securely hidden beneath the loose floorboard by my bed. There are only about fifteen or so, although given the fact that magic was banned in Andhera, that was quite a bit.
But really, banning magic was going to stop magicky things from being… magical. I should’ve reported the bookstore, but I can't do that anymore. I’d be turning myself in during the process.
Who would’ve known. The daughter of the fearsome lord Galaeron Veil is technically a traitor to the law. Yay.
The roaring waves seem to bask in the presence of the gray storm clouds moving in, rocking the rickety boat we’re in from side to side. You’d think that a duke and his son who live in a manor on a private island could afford a ship decorated with staff and crew, but no, we’re on the verge of tipping over. It seems that at any moment the raft would turn over and any, if not all, of us could fall over at any second. Actually, I want to push both of them overboard.
I’ll settle for the duke. Not much of a loss anyway.

Andon ::

A knock at my door temporarily stuns us into silence, a beat passing before I call out. “Yes?”
The dark stained ornate door slowly creeps open, the freckled face of a young official peeking through. “Uh, hi, I’m- oh wow, this place is nice- sorry, um, Prince Andon? Your father requests your immediate, uh, presence in the throne room. Yes. Right.” He smiles crookedly, messy strands of red hair poking through the doorway. As if remembering who he’s talking to, he does a little bow, hitting his head on the door. “Ow-”
Sunny laughs good-naturedly. “You alright there?”
“Yup, yup, yeah. Don’t worry ‘bout me!” He straightens up to look at us, rubbing his head.
I sigh and stand up, the bed creaking. “Be right back, Sunny.”
Meeting the young official at the exit, I fully open the door and step into the hallway, a hauntingly detailed portrait of a nine year old Andon staring back at me.
The boy practically skips to follow me, beaming ear to ear. His happiness is contagious and I can’t help but smile back. “Are you new here?” I ask.
“O- oh! Yes, yes, I’m new here, sir!”
I laugh, his slight stutter only making him seem more boyish and innocent. “No need for titles, you can just call me Andon.”
“Oh- oh wow, that’s just- wow. R-right. Andon. A-andon,” he rambles, astonished. When a lock of messy hair falls into his face, he doesn’t bother to tuck it back.
After some back-and-forth questioning, I find out his name is Liam and he’s one of the orphan boys who’d been raised by the maids and grew up in the stables. Another sad story who’s completed “the dream” of living in the palace.
As we near the throne room, the seemingly infinite hallway gives way to the grand doors leading to the ballroom. Crafted of marble and brick, the entire palace is like a beacon in the night, shimmering in elegant whites and ivories. Like the rest of the overly pristine palace, the hallways are adorned with paintings of both previous and current rulers, along with many candles and intricate carvings.
The entrance of the throne room is no different. Golden butterfly-like swirls cascade down the edges of the doors, finally splitting into a shower of golden bits decorating the bottom of the wall.
No expenses were wasted on the palace.
Liam steps forward towards the door as if to knock, practically bouncing in excitement before taking a deep breath and stepping back. “S-sorry! You c-can knock.”
I smile down at the boy. “It’s alright, go ahead.”
For the first time since I’ve known him, his joyous demeanor melts into what appears to be reluctance. He drops his gaze to the floor and stares at his shuffling feet anxiously. “N-no, it’s okay. I-I think I’d r-rather not.”
I sigh. Of course, it has nothing to do with not wanting to and everything to do with the fear of the man who awaits on the other side of the perfect door. I don’t blame the kid, the king is my father and I’m scared of him as well.
“I-in fact, I t-think I’m g-going to go n-now. I m-might be n-needed. B-bye!” In a blink, Liam scurries off down the hall. I watch as he almost runs right into a maid carrying a tray of steaming tea, who scolds him with a strict expression. Liam doesn’t seem to care much, saluting in her direction before continuing his run.
How I miss being a kid.
I grasp the bronze handle of the door, ornately carved into the shape of a dragon, down to the scales of silky quentil, or fae wings. As I pull on the door, it glides open smoothly, revealing the massive gold throne and my father’s figure resting beneath paintings of rulers past.

✎ weekly #1
424 words, unfinished

✎ daily #10
120/100 words

My mind clouded with the screams and arguments and all the exhausting buggers spewing one thousand words—and yet saying nothing at all—that I call my trains of thought.

I glare at the dirt and grass beneath me

The setting sun seemed to snarl at me,
As if judging me
But I squinted, and- and maybe I was mistaken, as I gazed up at the fiery colors that painted the sky.
Perhaps the sun was not
Trying to hurt me,

Perhaps
The sun did not know me at all,
And perhaps the sun was just like any other artist

Unknowingly performing miracles
And every morning and every evening as she settled down to sleep,

And I continued my way home.