Weekly 1 - Part 2: Fantasy World-building
Inspired by Keepers of The Lost Cities

In the Land of The Hidden Magics, everything was busy and laughter rang threw every group of trees. Reflections of happy faces of gnome children play on unicorns laid across every pool of crystal clear water. Today, everyone was getting ready to celebrate the 600 years of this place. Mermaids and Merman prepared pearl plates of seaweed desserts and seafood in the brook, and elves hung colourful handmade ribbons and balloons all over trees, with the help of two beautiful phoenixes.

Everything was peaceful, but not as safe as it seems. Dragons prepared hot chillies for extra powerful flames just incase, to defend everyone from the infamous trolls. But apart from that, everything in the Land of Hidden Magics was perfectly busy and beautiful, as it should be.

Willow the gnome admired the pretty view from the hill she was standing on. Glittering puddles were placed along trees, which sheltered many gnomish homes. Brooks and streams bubbled happily, and elves swung through the treehouses, teasing and laughing at each other. Unicorns taught their babies to fly, while gnome children watched.


Habitation of creatures:
❀ Elves live in treetops and build treehouses and stairs, but a few prefer to live on the ground. Elves also have similar habits to humans, like washing in the creeks, cooking, and needing shelter.
❀ Gnomes live close to the ground, like in hobbit homes, underground places, or between large roots.
❀ Unicorns - some unicorns wander around, flying into the moonlit skies freely, while others live in trees or on the ground.
❀ Merfolk live in underwater houses, usually with clear walls, and everything is made of sea materials like pearls, shells and sturdy seaweed.
❀ Phoenixes and dragons live on high, rock cliffs where they build giant nests.
❀ Trolls live in a rubbish filled part of the Land of Hidden Magics, in caves. It is a very unorganised and smelly place.

Secret entrance:
The secret entrance or the Land of The Hidden Magics is through the Mariana Trench, where you have to find a tiny gap, mutter a sentence password, and then navigate yourself to one of the brooks or puddles in the land.

Weekly #1

Part 1: 118 words
fantasy elements I want to use

flora & fauna:
- Wandering Choirs — whale-sized sky creatures, drift between floating islands, sing constantly
- moonpetal vines — only bloom if sung to, nectar used for healing

magic system:
- no one born magical — magic = trained skill, like music, not a bloodline thing
- luminite — pale blue stone found in veins under each island, resonates to sound
- different melodies = different effects (warmth/growth, healing, light, structural stability)
- “Unraveling Songs” — forbidden melodies, can crack luminite apart, taught to no one

people:
- Chanters — trained singers who work the luminite, years of vocal training required
- ranks: apprentice → Chanter → master Chanter (rare, usually only 2-3 per island)

ideas:
- islands float because they're sung into staying up, not naturally floating
- what if a luminite vein starts dying and the old songs stop working?
- what if someone learns a “new” song by copying the Wandering Choirs instead of human tradition?

Part 2: 302 words
The Shard Reaches are a scattering of islands that float, impossibly, above an endless sea of cloud. No one remembers how they came to hang in the sky — only that beneath each island runs a vein of luminite, a pale blue stone that hums faintly if you press your ear to the ground. The islands do not fly on their own. They are *sung* into staying aloft, note by note, by people called Chanters.

Chanting isn't a gift you're born with. It's closer to a craft passed down like blacksmithing or weaving — years of vocal training to learn the old melodies that make luminite respond. A low, sustained hum keeps an island steady. A rising scale can coax moonpetal vines into bloom, their nectar used for healing. Certain forbidden melodies — the “Unraveling Songs” — can crack luminite apart entirely, and are taught to no one, though fragments of them survive in half-remembered lullabies.

Each island specializes in different songs depending on the character of its luminite vein. Aldervale, the island at the center of my story, is known for its Warmth-Songs, sung to keep crops growing despite the thin, cold air so high above the clouds. Its Chanters are famous for their choir halls, carved directly into the luminite bedrock so the stone itself amplifies their voices.

Migrating through the Reaches are the Wandering Choirs — enormous, whale-like creatures that drift between islands on invisible currents, singing songs no human Chanter has ever fully transcribed. Some say the very first Chanters didn't invent their craft at all, but learned it by listening to these creatures centuries ago. The Choirs are neither hostile nor tame; they simply pass by, indifferent to the fragile islands trembling in their wake.

Aldervale has thrived for three hundred years. But lately, its vein has gone quiet in places it never used to.

Part 3: 545 words

**The Last Warmth-Song**

Mira pressed her palm flat against the choir-hall floor and felt nothing.

That was the problem. For three hundred years, Aldervale's luminite had answered every song sung into it — a low thrum rising up through stone and boot and bone, proof that the island was listening. Now there was only silence beneath her hand, in a stretch of bedrock the size of a barley field.

“It's spreading,” said Chanter Old Sorrel, not unkindly, just tired. She was the last of Aldervale's three master Chanters, and she looked it. “Two years ago it was the size of a dinner table. Now look at it.”

Mira was only an apprentice — she'd been singing scales into stone for four years, nowhere near the decade it usually took to earn a proper title. But she was the only one small enough, and stubborn enough, to have spent the last month with her ear pressed to every inch of quiet bedrock, listening for anything at all.

“The Warmth-Song isn't reaching it,” Mira said. “What if the vein isn't dead? What if it's just… forgotten the song?”

Sorrel's laugh was short and without much humor. “Stone doesn't forget, girl.”

“Then maybe it's waiting for a different one.”

That night, Mira climbed to the edge of Aldervale, where the cliffs dropped away into nothing but cloud, and did the thing every apprentice was taught never to do: she sang to the open sky, hoping something out there might sing back.

Something did.

It began as a vibration in her chest before it was ever a sound — deep, slow, older than any melody taught in the choir halls. A Wandering Choir was passing beneath the island, close enough that its song rattled the loose stones at Mira's feet. She had heard of people tracking these creatures for a lifetime and never getting this near.

She didn't have time to be afraid. She had a dying vein and a month before Sorrel said the quiet patch would reach the northern crops.

So Mira did the only thing she knew how to do. She sang back — not the Warmth-Song, not anything she'd been taught, but her own clumsy attempt to match the Choir's rising, falling pattern. It was closer to mimicry than music. She expected nothing.

The luminite under her feet answered anyway.

Not with the familiar hum of the Warmth-Song, but with something new — a resonance she'd never felt before, spreading outward from where she stood like ripples crossing still water. By the time the Wandering Choir's song faded into the clouds below, the quiet patch of stone had gone still in an entirely different way. Waiting, instead of dead.

She ran the whole way back to the choir hall, out of breath, unable to explain what had happened except to say: *it isn't gone. It just needed a song we haven't learned yet.

Old Sorrel didn't laugh this time. She simply picked up her staff, said, “Well then, apprentice — you'd better teach it to me,” and followed Mira back out into the cold.

Part 4: 558 words
Swapped with @icebunny11

**When the Choirs Came Down**
Mira had grown up believing the Wandering Choirs never came lower than the clouds beneath Aldervale — that they belonged to the sky between islands, and nowhere else. So when Old Sorrel woke her before dawn, pointing wordlessly toward the cliff edge, Mira didn't understand what she was looking at.
Below the Shard Reaches, past the endless grey sea of cloud that Aldervale had floated above for three hundred years, something had torn a hole in the world.
A black film had spread across the earth far beneath them, swallowing what Sorrel called, in a voice gone thin with disbelief, “the sun-world.” Mira had never given much thought to whatever lay under the clouds. No Chanter had. It was simply the nothing their islands drifted over.
It was not nothing anymore.
The Wandering Choirs were descending, all of them, in numbers Mira had never seen, singing a song so low it didn't just vibrate the stone underfoot — it seemed to reach down through the cloud sea itself, chasing the spreading dark.

Far below, Freska didn't know what was happening in the sky. She only knew that the cold that had been killing her neighbors for three days had, without warning, begun to lift.
She'd huddled with what remained of her family since the Darkening began — since the black film had eaten the sun and the ice had taken the cobblestones and the lamp posts and the people who couldn't outrun it. She had watched the sages come for the ones they wanted and leave the rest. She had not expected to survive.
Then the light came back. Not sunlight — nothing so warm and careless as that. It was a cold, blue-white glow, humming faintly, dropping from somewhere far above the black film like rain that gave off warmth instead of water.
Gray saw it from the upper grounds and understood it before anyone around him did, because he had spent years reading what his father wouldn't say aloud. The globalized project. Prepared a year in advance. He had assumed it meant new heaters, new equator-forged machines. He hadn't imagined it meant this — luminite, raining down from somewhere above the sky itself, answering some enormous, ancient song.
The sages had known it was coming. That was the secret his father's council had never told him: that the black film had a source, and the source had… neighbors. Beings who lived above the ruin, who had no idea their islands floated over a dying world, until the Choirs finally looked down and sang.

Mira didn't know what the pale ruin below her was called, or what its people had been through in the dark. She only knew that the Choirs, indifferent to islands and empires alike, had chosen — for the first time in Aldervale's history — to sing toward something instead of past it.
Old Sorrel stood beside her at the cliff's edge, luminite dust drifting from her sleeves like the last notes of a song not yet finished.
“They're not singing for us,” Sorrel said quietly.
“No,” Mira agreed, watching the glow spread across the black film far below, thinning it, note by note. “For once, I don't think they are.”
Below, for the first time in years, Freska felt something other than cold reach her skin. She didn't know its name either. But she reached her hand toward it anyway.

Dandelion Seeds
A short story by @Cherryleaf40
Jonathan couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Not in a good way. It was the very worst possible thing any child could hear. The doctor noticed his tension, reached forward, and placed his hands on top of Jonathan’s, in a paternal, sympathetic sort of way.
“I’m sorry,”the doctor said quietly. “We’ve done everything we can.”
Jonathan found his voice. “How long does she have?”
The doctor sighed heavily. “Judging by her blood test results, I’d estimate about a week.”

It surprised him to hear it said out loud, that his mother’s days were painfully numbered.
His mother. His kind, funny, beautiful mother.
Jonathan could still imagine her on the grassy, dandelion-filled hill, his chubby little seven-year-old hand clasped in her slender, rose-scented fingers, laughing. Her mahogany hair, shiny as sunlight hit the silky locks, windswept around her face, her eyes sparkling with joy. It pained Jonathan to remember, especially as there were so few of these memories. But remember he would, as it’s the least he could do to stop himself from breaking.

Breaking. Jonathan’s mind tasted the word.
It wasn’t a pleasant taste. He didn’t like it. No. No. He wouldn’t break. He wouldn’t ever break.
Yet…it was a familiar flavour. Like home, but wrong. Perhaps he was already broken.
It’s just perhaps, another voice in his mind said defiantly. ‘Perhaps’ isn’t inevitable.
But, retorted the first voice nastily. If you’re so certain you’re not broken, why are you still questioning it?
The second voice fell quiet.
Jonathan felt sick.

The doctor stood. “Would you like to see her?”
Jonathan nodded quickly, jerkily. “Yes please.”
“Right this way.”the doctor walked toward the corridor, his shoes clicking on the polished floor.
Jonathan stood up and followed, amazed his legs still functioned.
As the doctor led Jonathan through the hospital, he asked, “What is her name? Your mother’s?”
Something in Jonathan snapped. “Why? Is it any of your business?”
“Oh, no. I just thought you’d want to say it one last time.”the doctor explained clinically, without turning.
Jonathan’s eyes filled with tears. “Her name is Persephone”
The doctor turned this time, surprised. “Persephone? Like the Queen of the Underworld?”
“Yes,” Jonathan replied miserably. “She really liked flowers.“
“Ahh,”the doctor nodded. “I assume your father is named Hades, then.”
Jonathan looked away. “My father left. With my sister. When I was…it was years ago.”
“Where is your sister now?”
Jonathan continued to stare intently at the white walls as they walked by. “Char? Oh, she and my mother had a rocky relationship. She went to live with dad.”
The doctor nodded again. “It happens.”
“I…” Jonathan felt sunken. He didn’t know how to answer. Before he could make a fool of himself, he caught sight of a blue door up ahead. He couldn’t see the sign, but he was sure it was his mother’s. It had to be his mother’s. He could feel it.
He ran forward.

Before Jonathan could open the blue door, he froze horribly. Through the translucent window, there was the shadow of a dandelion in a pot, on the ledge inside. A dandelion.
They triggered memories.

“Mummy!”Jonathan called. He was a small, enthusiastic, happy seven years old. His big sister Charlotte had walked away with Daddy, but at least Mummy hadn’t. His chubby little legs struggled to keep up with the swift stride of his mother, and he tripped, falling onto a patch of pretty white daisies growing in a patch of spring-green grass.
Wait. Not daisies. Dandelions. Beautiful, puffy dandelions, begging to be plucked and blown.
Just as he reached an arm down to pick the largest one, a pair of slender arms clutched around him and picked him up and off the ground. Jonathan soon found himself wrapped in the arms of his mother. He gazed at her, and she smiled at him.
“Jonathan,”she said. Her eyes were mesmerising. They were sea-green, unlike his dark ones. But their hair was the same light mahogany, and it was worth it when Jonathan heard his mother complimenting it.
“Mummy,”Jonathan replied. “Where are Daddy and Charlotte?”
She bent down, still pressing him to her chest, and plucked a dandelion from the ground. Then she straightened, and pressed the stem into his hand, wrapping his little fingers around it.
“There are some things in life”she said quietly. “That are lovely. Daddy was lovely. Charlotte was lovely. Right?”
Jonathan nodded. He could remember his father lifting him onto his shoulders, calling him “my son”, and Charlotte sneaking him chocolate and soothing him as he cried.
“But we can’t always have these things,”his mother continued. “We let them go.”
She blew on the dandelion, and a few seeds lifted and flew off with the cool April breeze.
Jonathan gasped. “The seeds!”
“They’re gone, sweetheart. Just like Daddy. Just like Char.”his mother watched the seeds disappear into the distance, her eyes wistful. Then she turned back to Jonathan.
“Your turn,”she sang.
Jonathan blew. Seeds departed for who-knows-where.
“That was Daddy,”his mother told him.
Another breath. More seeds escaped.
“That was Char,”his mother continued.
There wasn’t many seeds left on the dandelion. Jonathan sucked a deep breath, then blew.
Now, there were no more. Jonathan’s eyes filled with tears.
“Now, wait,”his mother said gently. “Look.”
She turned the dandelion over.
Jonathan looked.
There were two seeds, clutching on for dear life. He had missed them, as they were on the bottom of the dandelion.
“There will always be more lovely things in your life, Jonathan,”his mother said. “Even in death, there will be stars that you can see. Remember that, won’t you?”
Jonathan nodded, wiping his tears with his sleeve. His mother kissed his forehead.
“For now, those lovely things are you and I. Just us. Alright?”
“Alright.”

Jonathan pushed the memory away and forced his stiff hand to open the door.
In the bed lay his once-radiant mother, the most beautiful rose, now withered and dry.
“Jonathan!”she called. He rushed to her bedside.
“The doctor told me,”she said. “I’m going to die.”
She said it so matter-of-factly.
Jonathan didn’t like this at all. “Mum-“
“Oh, please. I knew it would end like this. When’s your father coming?”
She said this matter-of-factly as well.
Jonathan stared at her, seriously wondering if she might have amnesia along with the terminal leukaemia. She looked so expectant, so…innocent. He couldn’t destroy her while she was on her deathbed…right?
“He…he’s coming,”Jonathan lied. “I called him and he said he’s on his way from Australia.”
“Australia?”his mother’s brow furrowed. “What’s he doing there?”
Jonathan tried to make things better. “Australia isn’t too far from London. He’ll be here soon, I promise.”
Lucky for him, his mother’s geography was never very good.
“Okay,”she sighed. “Make sure he visits me when he arrives.”
And she fell asleep, while Jonathan was filled with guilt at the false hope he raised.

Jonathan tried calling his estranged father. To speak the truth, the doctor was nearly correct. His father’s name was Hayden, not Hades, but close. Hayden wouldn’t answer. Hayden left him on voicemail. Hayden answered once and, before Jonathan could speak, had bellowed “Go away, you little idiot”. After that, Jonathan had given up.

But still, he visited the hospital, everyday for the rest of that week. And every time, his mother would ask, “Is he here? Did he call?” and Jonathan would reply, “He’s trying to get here, there’s been technical difficulties” or “He called earlier, he says he loves you”. His mother would look contented and relieved after he said these sort of things, but it just made him more guilty. His mind was now overcome with ethics- is lying wrong if it gives someone peace before death? Could this even be called peace if the lies were this significant?

In the end, on the last day, on the final night, Jonathan entered the room with a heavy heart.
“Mum,”he whispered. He sat beside her.
She smiled weakly at him.
Her smile was so optimistic, in a way, that it filled him with more regret just to deliver the information that Hayden had never answered the calls. But his mother opened her mouth first.
“I know he isn’t coming,”she said, to Jonathan’s utter shock. “But thank you for pretending.”
“What?”he said. “But…”
Despite himself, Jonathan was filled with anger at her deceiving. He really thought she had amnesia and had forgotten that Hayden had left years and years ago. He’d been worried sick.
As if she could read his mind, his mother replied.
“I haven’t forgotten my philosophy, Jonathan. I just…I foolishly hoped…”his mother drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “I hoped he would take pity and come back. One last time.”
Jonathan felt his anger evaporate. “Mum…”
She lifted a hand and stroked his light mahogany hair, the exact shade of her own, but hers was wispy and withered now. It just seemed like another sign screaming that her end was nigh.
Jonathan leaned into the touch. He’d missed this, her tender, rose-scented fingers in his hair.
“I haven’t forgotten what I told you,”she said quietly. Her sea-green eyes found the lone dandelion in the pot that perched on the window ledge.
Jonathan didn’t know what to say. His sorrow still found its way out. Jonathan felt his eyes betray him and the tears broke, making his eyelashes damp. Tears fell onto his mother’s hand.
The hand fell, exhausted, to her side. She gazed at him hungrily, and he reached out and clutched her fingers again in his. So she wouldn’t be alone, just like she’d made sure he wasn’t on the dandelion hill. Her eyes searched his, for something he wouldn’t ever know.
“You’re still the loveliest thing in my life,”she whispered hoarsely. She took in one last breath.
“Now…the stars. I can see the stars again.”Then her eyes fluttered shut and everything was gone.

One of the seeds still clinging desperately to the dandelion lifted by that last, weak breath, and the sheer power of maternal love contained inside that single breath sent the seed over the horizon, into the blazing sunset.

There was still one seed remaining, clutching the dandelion from an eternity ago.
There was always more to hope for, even as the sun set with that last, wizened breath.

And as that sun rose again, a blue hospital door, both literal and metaphorical, opened with it. Jonathan looked up, and what he saw rescued him from his broken grief. He leaped from his seat beside his mother’s body, rushed forward, and crashed into the figure standing there.
“Char! It’s really you!”
The girl laughed into the embrace. “Yes, John,”she replied. “I’m here.”
With that, a broken teenager was mended again, at least until he would see the stars himself.
Maybe the present was a way to prevent breaking, he thought. Perhaps it isn’t just memories.
Meanwhile, a single dandelion seed waves gently in the wind, almost as if it were dancing in joy.

Critique for @FlamingoTesting
After reading your weekly, I was honestly impressed. There were many pros to your world building, because the details like the Bouncing Mushrooms, Orb Leaf, unexplored mountain and Last Border all feel like setup for later, not just decoration. Now you’ve got me inspired for my own weekly

Also, the affinity-magic/power-name system pays off later, and I think it’s a good follow-through. The Planter/Forester/Explorer system is also a really strong point in the game, because it explains why Sage and Lavender feel restless and also gives Dawnhaven an overall economy. Meanwhile, Parts 3-4 pace new mysteries really well, with steady escalation, so it doesn’t feel rushed. ALSOOOO, the “What’s beyond that? No one knows…yet.”is EXCELLENT foreshadowing!! I really liked that line, and it sort of compliments the whole thing.

However, there were some things to improve that I noticed. There were dialogue tag capitalisation after quotes, and a past/present tense mistake (“had gotten” vs “has gotten”). The dragon continuity was kind of unclear- is the Lightning Dragon from Part 2 the same as the dragon guarding Duskhaven from Part 3? Anyway, it’s a question to think about. Also, the three-month time skip at the start of Part 4 kind of…compresses character growth too fast; I think a short scene showing the growth would help, sort of like a film montage but in writing?

On the whole, though, this is an imaginative and internally consistent piece of worldbuilding, populated by characters with clear motivations and a plot that's generating more questions than it answers — which, done well, is exactly what a strong opening arc should do (WHICH IS A GOOD THING, NOT A BAD THING, DON’T TAKE THIS THE WRONG WAY!!).. A little polishing on the mechanics and a touch of clarity on the dragon continuity would take this from a strong weekly to a genuinely excellent one.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Word War 2
Wordcount: 375
Person warred: jaybird10125
Win/Loss: Win
Prompt used: None
Time: 5 minutes
Cabin: Dystopian-Xenofi love child

(I was writing for the weekly and decided to just continue writing as part of the word war. This is considered as part 2!)

Okay, so the world where Freska and Gray live has no more sun, literally. This place has lost its sunlight; this place, as in Earth, if you could even call it that anymore, and because the sun magically vanished from the sky one day, you can imagine there were a lot of negative changes that occurred.

For Freska, this meant that her entire livelihood got overthrown, because where she lived automatically placed her in the lower grounds section. She wasn't born when the sun decided to disappear, but because he grand grand grand grand relatives had decided not to move somewhere closer to the equator, she was left as a poor human on possibly one of the worst places to currently be alive- no where near the man made heaters that kept the air warm for living conditions.

The heaters that were placed on the equator divided the world into the rich class, the class which could afford to live near the heaters and keep their families safe. In this place, many numerous scientific discoveries were also made, including anti-gravity elevators and crops which could grow without too much need of sunlight. These discoveries, as you could predict, were not shared with the lower ground people in any way. They were left with only the basic means of survival, with crops that barely grew, and houses that barely protected them from the cold. Even the air there was bitter, and was harsher to breathe if you hadn't grown up in that region.

The higher grounds were where Gray was from. He wasn't ignorant to the fact that the lower-ground people were suffering; no, more like he chose to believe that they suffered far less than they actually did. His father, as a council member, did not always tell him the details of the lower grounds himself, so he was quite obsessed with researching about the world they lived in and how they managed to survive when they barely got any radiation from the heaters at all.

The places near the poles were almost barren, nothing there except empty fields and no animals in sight. If one tried to venture close they would most possibly pass away without a sound.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Critique 1
Wordcount: 412
Person critiqued: LovegoodLady
Their work: Daily 6
Cabin: Dystopian-XenoFi love child

A bedraggled bird swoops down beside her, pecking at the remains of a mangled squirrel.

Wait, I don't know why I laughed at the word bedraggled; I just imagined a bird who looked like he'd been forced out of bed with his feathers all sticky and messed up and doesn't want to be here at all :sob: I should look up my words properly.

WAIT I JUST LOOKED IT UP AND IT MEANS LOWKEY EXACTLY WHAT I JUST SAID??

More birds begin to circle above the squirrel.

My understanding of symbolism is eighty out of a hundred times different than what others infer, so I might be a bit off on deciphering what you're trying to depict here, but I feel like the birds surrounding the squirrel drew a nice parallel with the clouds surrounding Leigh as we see just a line above. It could also represent the witch preying on the poor couple while they are in a time of need

When the baby was born, the couple would give her to the witch.

All for some rampion is crazy, by the way, these couples in stories really be doing anything for the grind

The man, desperate, agreed, taking the rampion back home to his wife. Soon after, the baby was born.

KEYWORD ITS A MAN WHO AGREED NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Wife why would you send a bro like this :disappointed:

The birds fly off, leaving only a red stain on the grass behind.

This definitely represents how even after the mother was the one who gave birth and ultimately wanted to care for the baby, the witch took the child away, leaving only a wound in the parents' hearts, or also the red stain on the grass. Unless I'm wrong?

Lightning strikes a spot near her. LEIGH doesn't seem to noticed.

This could represent how Rapunzel (I'm assuming this is Rapunzel? I'm gonna call her Rapuzel <3) doesn't notice anything is wrong with her fake mother's false behaviour and how even though it is clearly dangerous from a third point of view, it isn't to her since she's all she's ever known.

LEIGH looks up at the sky for the first time, expressionless.

This could show that Leigh noticing the sky for the first time is like the prince noticing Rapunzel for the first time, looking up at the high tower and watching her.

LEIGH moves her gaze from the sky to the edge of the cliff.

Paired with the word impossible, cliff helps solidify the term, as most people think of cliff and go “oh, jumping off a cliff, or diving off a cliff!” Things which may seem impossible to do or impossible to survive from.

Just jump, he says. I'll catch you. Okay, she agrees. She jumps, falling down, down, down…

WAIT WHY DID I CLOCK IT AGDWIGHUHDWHWDQ WE'RE BOTH SUCH GENIUSES

He does not catch her.

Once again, ladies and gentlemen, a lying man :disappointment:

I love the fact that so many different people can infer different things from this story depending on which point you read it from! This is such a cool piece and it definitely has more symbolism than you think it does, so you did an amazing job!

critique for ava! I really enjoyed critiquing this, so kudos to you <3

no sun stuff snip

this is so cool! i'm definitely interested in the idea of a world without sun— it feels really unique! I'm a little suspicious as to how people survive without a heat source, but reading on a bit will probably answer that ;D Plus, this is fantasy! It seems a bit more speculative fiction (in a good way) to me, as in speculating what people will do without the sun if they could survive, and I'm instantly excited to see what comes next.

freska's life snip

An interesting life story! If you wanted to tell the story about how the heaters worked without sunlight, perhaps mention friction (or whatever else you had in mind)? I could see people (including me at first) being fairly confused about the heaters, so a lil explanation couldn't hurt. Other than that, maybe add on a bit to what ‘the lower grounds’ are! And I can't tell if the heaters have anything to do with social status, but this paragraph sort of hints at that, so if you'd like people to understand that part probably make it slightly more clear.

Freska seems like she has a very interesting backstory that ties in nicely with the world! I'm excited to read on.

heaters, social stuff

AHA! There's the heater social status explanation I was waiting for. Ignore that last part (I'm keeping it there for words :>), then. I really like this idea, so I'm glad you incorporated it.

I also enjoyed reading about the discoveries the upper-class people made! If you wanted to add onto that, I'm sure no one would mind, as it's quote interesting, but feel free to keep it as it is.

gray's life story snip

Ooh, I like how you worded this section! I especially liked the mention of how he ‘chose to believe they suffered far less than they actually did’ part. However, the part after about his research obsession seems to contradict that, as it implies he's incredulous to how they survive without heat. How could he be incredulous if he thought they were fine? Perhaps a little more explanation here.

last lil part

I know this part is incredibly tiny, but I really enjoyed the writing style it was written it— clean and foreboding, in a way?

Overall, I really enjoyed reading about this world and would love to know more. Perhaps a bit more explanation in some places, but it would be perfectly fine without, as you can see from how much I enjoyed reading it.

⪻ weekly #1 ♪ 7/9/2026 ⪼

back to directory

part 1

notes:

• magic systems: governed by rules/costs/divine sources

• architecture: cohesive and is able to withstand environmental pressure
  

• history: shows why the world is like this today
  

• magic: needs consistent rules and limitations
  

ideas:

- magical systems:

• 4 paths: harmony, chaos, eternity, transience
  

• paths are unlocked via statues
  

• harmony creates stuff, chaos destroys stuff, eternity can manipulate time, transience can teleport. the more powerful someone is, the more control they have over their path (eg. a powerful person that follows transience can teleport further than someone who’s weaker)
  

• levitation is a power everyone has, along with flying

- government:

• there’s a duchess/duke that rules over each land of a path. these duchesses/dukes report back to the royal family. duchesses/dukes are personally elected by the royal family.
  

• noble families also discuss in a court, but the royal family has the final/strongest vote
  

• titles have different rankings, which affect their vote in a court
  

- architecture:

• heavily inspired by medieval palaces
  

• land is divided into 5 sections – harmony, chaos, eternity, transience, and royalty
  

• a castle in each land of a path (note that the fort is smaller than the castle)
  

• lots of cities where people on the same path gather together
  

• islands and a main castle where royalty rules
  

- history:

• in the past, there was a war between a terrible monster and the four heroes
  

• four heroes remained victorious, and were celebrated
  

• the heroes created statues of themselves with their magic to give future generations their power
  

• the heroes also selected a family to become the royal family
  

257/100 words

part 2

. in the noble land of aylocia, there lived a royal family that ruled over all. the family has been there as long as the eldest scrolls can remember, and no one dares oppose their rule. titles possess a great amount of power, being passed down from generations, with an occasional new title handed to a notable civilian. titles can be taken away, leading to many nobles being fearful of speaking against the royal family. many often end up attempting to please the family to gain a higher ranking title – and perhaps even the title of a duchesses/duke. these families are, on the other hand, alright – and perhaps even gleeful – to speak and insult other nobles, to destroy their reputation so they’ll lose their title.
outside the heavy political discussions that occur in the palaces and courts, are civilians in towns, working to survive. some are merchants, selling their goods, dishes, and handcrafted items. some are farmers, working hard to supply others with produce. several other common jobs include butchers, scribes, teachers, and more. taking a step up into a more affluent city lay citizens who are dragon tamers and trainers, apothecaries, healers, and students who were wise enough to attend a more prestigious school. many view such citizens as a stepping stone to becoming a noble, and magic is often used in these citizens' daily lives. once children reach the age of 13, they are led by officials to the shrine of choosing, where 4 statues of the heroes select which path each kid will follow. afterwards, these kids are led to each path’s castle, where they are educated for two years. those with potential continue their education and will eventually settle in a prosperous city for a job and even, potentially, have a chance of becoming or being noticed by a noble. others are led back to their hometown. if they were born in an affluent city, then it’s likely that they won’t be able to find a job, causing them to enter and settle into a more common town.
the royal family’s history is heavily hidden, but many suspect that they hide a secret. it is well known that the family was chosen by the 4 heroes personally, but why they specifically were selected is still unknown. occasionally, the family visits towns and cities as part of a ceremony written and created by the heroes. they host extravagant parties for nobles on special occasions, such as the crown’s birthday, where the ruling queen/king invites families over to their palace to celebrate the date of their birth. these parties spark high political tension between the aristocrats, who wish to find themselves in the favor of the royal family.
rumors are often whispered in towns of an underworld, led by an organization who’s leader controls the members with an iron fist. however, there is no evidence of such, so many higher ranked families do not take this tale seriously.

491/300 words

part 3

. the princess of aylocia was panicking.
her father’s birthday was in a week. that means the annual crown’s birthday celebration was taking place in a week.
the princess, othera, was in charge of making sure everything was ready as a task to make sure she was ready for her crowning that was coming up.
but nothing was going the way that she had envisioned.
the bakers made a cake that was visually plain. after shouting – her voice tearing apart the chefs that cowarded beneath her – the cake was thrown out and restarted.
The cook's dishes were mediocre at best, and were not fit to be served at such a ceremonious event. the mushroom soup was too thick, the stew was lacking in both texture and flavour, the braised lamb wasn’t savory enough, and everything was horrible.
don’t even get her started on the decorations – they were tacky, atrocious, and generally very beggarly.
what to do? what will she do? if this ceremony turned into a mess, all those nobles would blather foul rumors about how she wasn’t fit to rule over the kingdom.
not only that, but othera was also scheduled to perform in front of all the aristocrats, showing off her powers over harmony, creating large objects and creatures to be respected in front of the families.
and so, she spent around three hours everyday practicing, creating fountains, running water, and even a chandelier (that was able to crash down).
othera walked up to a chef who was currently stewing a pot of tomato soup. “let me try,” she snapped, quite annoyed. she already knew how this would turn out.
the chef shook slightly, visibly terrified, but nodded. othera summoned a bit of her strength and created a semi-gold, lightly transparent spoon and bowl. she then levitated the ladle in the pot, used it to pour soup into the bowl, then brought the bowl up to her lips.
she took a sip. it was decent, as all the dishes were, but was lacking something. it was savory and peppery, but was missing a little, let's say “kick” to it that would’ve made it perfect.
“not good enough,” she said, once more, repeating the phrase for the nth time this week.
the chef cowered and merely nodded. othera walked away.
perhaps it would be okay if everything turned out to be extremely…average? but no, she remembered all those court meetings with all those aristocrats. even the servants looked tense, for everything that was done, said, every movement, was bound to be criticised by someone sooner or later.
they didn’t pay much attention to her, specifically. but othera heard; she heard all the rumors about other noble children, how elixria (“notarius curiae”) was too “unprofessional”, how sitolina (“vicecomes harmoniae”) was too “messy”, how pirnte (“comes discordiae”) was “trying too hard”, how lethe (“ioculator regius”) “behaved like a brute” – all terrible stuff. it was merely a matter of time before they talked about her, too.
or maybe they already had? maybe she hadn’t heard. in court meetings, othera’s job was to stay silent and observe. raising her voice was the job of her parents. but what if, what if they took that as weakness? what if they said that she was too silent, too incapable of becoming queen?
so yes, this party had to be perfect. otherwise she’ll become the mocking jester of every noblepeople in the kingdom of aylocia!

568/500 words

part 4

. the royal family of aylocia ruled the kingdom, over the safe and happy citizens. or so that’s what the people seemed to be. in the common towns, there’s hatred brewing to the higher-class due to what they believe are unfair rules and a highly oppressive social construct. an organization, called “hecate” rose up, operating from the shadows and plotting to overthrow the upper classes. this organization wishes to replace the current government with the common merchants to create more lenient meetings and contracts between the upper and lower classes. they wish to find a magic source that can create more paths then the already existing ones, and be able to “negotiate” paths so the people of aylocia aren’t locked to only one (eg. someone following the path of harmony would be able to trade/borrow/lend powers from a person following the path of chaos).
after months of the organization’s researching in private corners, they discovered a land called bellorne, where they met fae-like creatures called the twilight folk. although they were initially friendly at first, they turned hostile when they realized that the people of aylocia weren’t as gullible as the humans back in bellorne. the organization wished for a opportunity to create a new path but they were unwilling to sacrifice anything of worth to the faes. the faes, on the other hand, wished to take advantage of these new and unique creatures, but were unwilling to give their powers off for free or for little worth. tensions were high, with neither sides willing to attack the other. despite believing that they were the best out of the two, they knew what happened if they attacked. there would be an all out war.
eventually, after a particularly long stalemate, the leader of hecate decided to pay the well-known folk (in their organization at least, the rest of aylocia still had not a clue that they existed) to finally create a contract that can fufil both parties’ wishes. it was a tedious journey, but eventually she, and several other high ranking members made it.
the two parties talked through a lake, neither sides willing to reveal themselves to the other party. the folk hid in the water, while the members of hecate hid themselves beneath objects that a few members had created.
for the first few hours, nothing had changed. both sides were still unwilling to back down, and hostilities were at an all time high.
“perhaps it would’ve been better we leave,” said a member of hecate after another few hours had passed. both sides were annoyed as ever, and hecate was still infuriated how the folk had insulted them by calling them “immature” and “vastly inferior to our species”. “if we were to stay here, these…well, to put it nicely, these…narrowminded creatures would annoy us so much, that we might as well have enough rage to destroy ever last one of their kind.”
and the folk? “what good is there to negotiate with abrasive sub-humans? let’s return back and find pleasure in tricking humans instead?”
it was safe to say tension were high. after bothsides had cooled down, they agreed to tried negotiating for one last time.

530/500 words

──★ ˙ writing for critique
1,787 words

if anything seems silly it’s because i had to replace it (it wasn’t scratch-appropriate language, and had to be censored)

Everything around you darkened. You no longer felt panic during this sudden process. But rather something you were acquainted with.

Frustration didn't surge into you anymore when you had to instantly put a stop to what you were doing, but you just sighed as you tried to quicken your death to resume.

A peculiar tune enters your ears coming from the map. Light enters your blackened vision, making you aware of where you are.

Looking around, the place looked like that one c00lkidd carnival, with everything recolored blue. You saw a stand that looked like 007n7's son, but instead had “tem bluudude get inn nowww!!!” sprawled onto him. Maybe they were friends of some sort? Or perhaps enemies, since they were on different teams. You made a mental note to ask the exploiter later.

The killer was 1x1x1x1.

You didn't tense up as you did initially; you just sighed. The killers all blurred into a haze as the rounds dragged on. They were all just merciless murderers, though some did have different motives.

But you didn't care enough about them. You weren't someone obsessed with necessarily escaping the realm or “changing” the killers. You just wanted something else to do, because currently you were rather bored.

You rushed over to the nearest generator you could find, might as well be useful.

“Oh! H-hey…” Noob greeted nervously, avoiding eye contact. You almost scoffed at their lack of self-esteem before feeling pity for them. Socializing wasn’t always the easiest for you either, and the current conditions probably took an added toll on them. Everyone responds to stressful situations differently, so perhaps this was how they did.

The generator hummed as you both finished, successfully untangling and connecting the colorful wires.

You both hurried over to the next generator. As you two wander in search of a task, you subconsciously begin to observe them. They walked nervously, as if they felt like eyes were constantly judging every step they took. Noob kept a watchful gaze and kept their limbs close together. Their hands were shaky, and they sometimes fumbled with the wires, quietly scolding themself.

This was in contrast with the other survivors. Chance and Shedletsky had a wide pace and always sauntered around; the difference being Chance was heedless towards his surroundings, while the latter quietly observed. Guest 1337 was constantly on guard, though not out of agitation, but to protect him and the others. Some almost didn't walk—now that you thought about it. Two Time was always crouching to increase their stealth. Veeronica adored skating, so it was no wonder that she maximized her time to practice the art.

Killers also had their own style of maneuvering around. It amazed you that despite how corrupt these beings were, they still shared the same unintentional personalized habits as you did.

John Doe stumbled like he was drunk, though you knew that the reason was his corruption. Noli was extremely chaotic, with an unpredictable pathing. It complemented their personality perfectly, as they always enjoyed the rush of a chase.

It was fun to watch others. Not in a creepy way, but you enjoyed noticing the small details in people.



Hearing the familiar chase theme, you whip your head around. Thankfully, you weren’t being chased, but Chance was. His flintlock went off, but due to the stress, they missed the target entirely.

You took this opportunity to fire your own. Even though it won’t do anything right away, it was the only thing you could do to assist your teammate. The bullet reached out and successfully landed on 1x1x1x1’s pitch-black skin.

He shot you a quick glare before continuing the pursuit.

You kept track of the cooldowns and finally realized a small detail in your abilities. The cooldown to use your pistol was lower than for the explosion to go off.

While this seemed trivial at first, an idea suddenly hit you.

You waited for the chance to use the weapon again, noticing closely. When the seconds finally counted down to zero, you crouched behind a half-wall. You carefully kept an eye of his movements.

The gun fires and hits him precisely. 1x1x1x1 looks around, before his gaze lands on you. He bares his teeth, and you can see the glint of his sharp teeth. It seems like he had just finished killing another survivor—probably through a brutal death of stabby stab and more stabby stab. Ouch.

You rush off while you still have the head start. However, that initial advantage did not last long, as he began to catch up.

He sliced the air behind you, and you could feel the wind brush by. You checked the cooldown—still a few seconds left—but begin spamming the button anyway. There was no time to lose.

However, you are caught in an Entanglement that you tried to dodge, but his aim easily predicted where you would end up. Just like a hunter predicting its prey’s next move. You yelp in surprise, and are hit with an attack.

You stumble, and he kicks you to the ground. You feel sick, like you want to throw up from the poison. Everything feels so blurry and hazy, and your hands are covered with your own blood.

A neon glowing stands out in your vision, the only thing you can focus on. Your mind goes numb from the sharp impacts of the daemonshanks falling down on you. With each strike, you can feel the raw hatred he pours into the attacks.

You still weren’t used to the pain 1x1x1x1 inflicts, despite being in quite a few rounds with him. ”Please…” you manage to choke out, and you can hear him bark out laughter.

Instead of one of his swords meeting your body, it’s a foot that kicks your bloody back. A weak gasp escapes your wet lips, a metallic taste dripping onto your tongue. “Does this remind you of anything?” he taunts, his voice seething with rage. You can feel his delight at seeing you in pain like this.



The world changed around you. No longer were you lying on a concrete floor in some carnival, but on some arena. A blazing ring of fire surrounds you. But still, your position remains unchanged, collapsed on the floor with the same looming figure above you.

Yet, this wasn’t your body either.

Or at least, it felt different.

Sure, it was the same messy hair sprawled around you. The same eyes that darted around nervously. And the same hands you used to repair generators.

Heck, even the red blood tasted the same.

But why did you feel like there was something attached to your back? Like a tumor or something growing out of it. It felt strange and unsettling, yet also familiar at the same time. It felt like it was with you your entire life.

Then you realize you could move it like an arm. There were two, and they were very large.

A bloody feather gently flutters down beside you. Confusion fills you, before you realize they were coming from your “third pair of limbs,” as you quietly named them.

Were those wings on your back?

Then, like puzzle pieces, everything fit together. The weight you felt from behind you wasn’t weird tumors; they were wings. You had wings. The idea made you slightly gasp in awe. Your very own pair of wings.

Using up your remaining strength, you shuffle them lightly. They seemed real. But at this point, you couldn’t tell what was real or fake. Was this place just a figment of your imagination while your body was slowly decaying? Or was it some weird flashback you were having, like the main character of a story? (who’s gonna tell bro)

But before you could enjoy your feathered friends more, twin swords came crashing down on them. Oh yeah, you were being tortured by a killer. Even in this limbo, he was still trying to murder you.

He begins to carve it in slow movements, purposefully dragging out the process so you would experience more pain. You let out a high-pitched scream. Tears once again begin to cloud your vision and eventually flow down your face, mixing with the blood.

Your wings are being severely torn apart as you shriek in pain. You can sense the killer’s sadistic satisfaction with each spasm.

He was gradually shredding your wings apart, enjoying every moment while you suffered helplessly. You couldn’t do anything; you were powerless and pinned to the ground. There was no more energy left in you.

That's when you remembered.

The gun.

Wincing with pain and a shaky hand, you reach for your last hope. The one that can save you from this nightmare.

Your thumb fumbles for the button, and you weakly press it.

Boom.

The sound of the explosion echoes throughout the arena, but the world feels too blurry to notice. A loud ringing sensation fills your ears, and you groan. “Please… stop…” You mumble.



All of a sudden, you are transported back to the realm. The one where you were originally in. While it seems like everything is normal again, your wings are still there. Must be a hallucination or something, because surely you didn’t actually possess them, right?

Looking up, you realized 1x1x1x1 was stunned. It seems to last longer, as it did take you some time to recover, yet he was still frozen in place. You brush away the lightheaded and lethargic feeling as you begin to crawl away. Your attention was just set on one thing: survive. No matter how hard it would be.

The timer was still counting down. You couldn’t make out what it said, but you hoped it was just a few more seconds.

But just one second felt like forever.

The killer began to regain his control and was approaching you again. Not rushed like when the hunt began. But calm and collected—like his job was already finished.

It probably was.

Your skin was very blue to the point it was concerning. Confusion filled your thoughts, and you were completely drained. Adrenaline no longer pulsed within you; the drive to stay alive was inactive. You just felt the voice of sleep calling you.

And you gave in, accepting your fate. Closing your eyes as you lay there in your blood, you drifted into death. Your broken wings enveloped your tattered body, giving you warmth in your remaining seconds.

You felt relief in knowing that you would respawn. You didn’t care if that meant 1x1x1x1 would gain more time—all you yearned for was the renewal of your anatomy. That sweet feeling of being able to move freely again.

The questions from the strange “hallucination” could be answered later, and you drifted off into peaceful darkness once again.

❥・@babyoda1546
Wordcount・169
Prompt・“… I owe you an explanation, don't I?”
Points・100 for winning (+25 for a prompt)
Cabin・Bi-fi

“I owe you an explanation, I guess,” Ayumi laughed nervously. The tendrils out her back showed a clear yes to the question, but Ayumi with anxiety smiled and sweated hard for a few seconds. “Uh… Actually no, you don't. I know what this is about, I just didn't think it would happen so, er, soon,” Ayumi's father replied to the awkward situation. “Wait, what do you mean you know what's happening!? I was planning on completely researching whatever the heck this might be and then essentially presenting an entire ted talk on what was happening!! Not having you find out only, like four days later!” Ayumi cried frantically. Her dad nodded and waved his hand to the couch, inviting her to have a seat. “So,” he started, “How long ago did this start and how'd you learn about it?” Ayumi looked at the couch and tried to recall the incident. “It was a few days ago, at the beach. I was hanging there on Sunday with Jonah and Rinny.”

Chapter Three: "Dedication (You Don’t Know Me)" - July 7th, 2026 - 1138 words.

My brother’s been staying at his friend Tony’s house for the past week. Apparently our house isn’t entertaining enough for him. Honestly, it’s not entertaining enough for me either. Yesterday though, Tony’s parents said they were planning on packing to go on a Summer trip to their lake house. Imagine having a lake house. Anyways, they said he couldn’t come (not like he asked, he’s better than that), but they sent him home. I would be totally fine with this except for the fact it means that I have to be home. We get along well enough, so being home alone with him isn’t awful, but I'd much prefer to be doing other things. Today he woke up much earlier than I, ate a bowl of cereal, and watched some Marvel movie until I got up. I know this because the box was at the front of the pantry, and his laptop was plugged in on the counter. Plus he doesn’t watch anything that isn’t Marvel. By the time I woke up he was already complaining about being “bored”. I told him that it’s good to be bored before I realized how much I sound like my father. This isn’t a bad thing, so to speak. My father is a very nice guy. He is quite well versed in sales, and finances, and he makes many jokes that are so bad that you kind of have to laugh. He doesn’t seem all that satisfied though. I can tell he wants something more, but doesn’t exactly know what that is. I do hope I can help him find that some day. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t bored as well though, so we decided to walk to the library. This was more for him than for me, as I’m not really a “reader”. Once I told this to a friend of mine and she said that everyone was a reader, and I must not have read the right book yet. She’s probably right.

We made it to the library and my brother quite immediately made his way over to the Marvel comics. He also doesn’t read anything that isn’t Marvel. I decided to just walk around, and I found several books improperly placed, but I didn’t care all that much. Eventually I made my way over to the psychology books which are really the only books I’ll actually read. This is odd because I do not care all that much about psychology. This is also one of the reasons I read them. Re-read those last few sentences, will you? It makes a lot of sense if you’re crazy enough.

The first book I found was called “Atlas of the Heart” by someone named Brené Brown. I skimmed through the introduction until I came up on the dedication page. Usually I don’t care much for dedications. I find them fake. I’ve been around authors before, and they always write the dedication last. You’d assume that if you’re dedicating a book to someone you’d pay more attention to why you’re dedicating it to them in the first place. If I ever wrote a book, I’d probably just skip the dedication all together. There’s a lot of people I could dedicate it to, of course. I just don’t see the benefits, unless you write the entire book about this person, or in memory of this person, or at least with this person in the forefront of your mind, though maybe I’m just looking at it wrong. I in fact am not an author, so maybe authors just feel differently about their work than I do. This is of course besides the point, as always. The point was that in this specific book I had picked up, the dedication read: “To PC and BT, you don’t know me. Love TJ.” just like that. I don’t know exactly why this interested me so much, but for some reason it did. There was a line through the word “don’t” which I believe is called a “strikethrough”, though again, I am in fact, not an author. First of all, this is exactly why I do not like dedications. Why would I want a whole book dedicated to me, just to have to decipher a riddle to figure out what it even means. I thought about this for a long moment. Are they saying that they do know them, or they don’t know them? You’d assume that they do know you if they dedicated a whole book to you, but I guess that’s not always the case. I’m unsure if anyone ever knows someone.

I continued reading until about the fourth paragraph, when I was met with quite a relatable line. “There is nothing sweet about packing up. It’s hard physical work and an emotional minefield. Do I keep it? Do I trash it when no one is looking? Should I feel bad? Am I bad?”. I stopped for a moment and just stared at those words. I re-read them again and again. It’s odd how meaningful a single object can be to someone. I have never been all that materialistic. I still have several of my childhood toys and stuffed animals, as well as a few relics from family members, but I’ve never been all that crushed when something breaks or gets lost. Usually I’m sad for a moment, but I get over it. That being said, packing has never been a strong suit of mine. For someone so ambivalent as I am, I do get quite sentimental. One one side, I feel like I am too old for most things. I am not a child anymore, I have responsibilities now. On the other hand, I feel I am too young for most things. I am not yet an adult, I still have time to be free and live my life without horrendous repercussions. It’s an interesting place to be in. Kinda like purgatory, of course a lot more confusing. In purgatory, all you really need to know is that you’re there. It’s not like you can escape. Though, I guess this depends on what purgatory we’re talking about. The Catholics really coined the term and refer to it as a “purification process”. For if your soul is not yet pure enough for Heaven, but close. Christians simply reject the idea. In Mandaeism they have a purgatory adjacent place referred to as “maṭarta”, which supposedly provides tests for spirits attempting to ascend to the “Lightworld”. At this point, my brother found me and asked if we could share a sandwich from the Subway across the street. He had at least four Marvel comics in his arms that he wanted to check out. I, of course, was still on the second page of book number one. I wonder why I bother researching such vexed topics.

Weekly 1:

Part 1: research

What makes something qualify as the genre fantasy?
> elements that are not part of the real world, such as magic, mythical creatures, and otherworldly settings.
> supernatural, operate outside the laws of the real universe and involve events that are not part of reality

Some elements of fantasy:
- magic systems => set the rules // define the limits // show the costs // give it roots
- struggles for mastery (struggles over mastery of the world, powers or knowledge)
- quests and adventures (the quest for knowledge, treasure, or mastery of a skill)
- worldbuilding => geography and climate // creatures and plants // economy // politics // religion and myths // architecture and fashion
- good vs evil
- prophecy => could be clearly prophecy or a riddle to be solved, forces protagonist to question whether they control their future or its set in stone

Subgenres of Fantasy:
> Epic Fantasy: high stakes, good vs evil, epic hero, swords etc. e.g game of thrones, lord of the rings
> Dark Fantasy: horror meets magic, bleak tones, morally murky protagonists e.g: coraline, the witcher
> Contemporary Fantasy: fantasy that happens beside us in the real world e.g: Harry Potter, Percy Jackson
> Urban Fantasy: similar to contemporary fantasy but grittier and more adult; usually set in a city, like vampires in night clubs, supernatural politics, e.g: Shadowhunters, The Dresden Files

Ideas:
1. sort of Urban Fantasy (very close to magical realism) - A world much like ours, however much more rural like the past and present morphed together. Humanity is endangered due to the decreasing rate of birth. There's now a controlling government where people are monitored and women are kept under regular tests like lab rats etc. Magic is unheard of, and only told in whispers and tales in fiction. The main character: Rory, is a boy that lives a relatively “simple” life and is a “simple” boy in standards of this universe (there's more to him than meets the eye). He works as a journalist and editor for a newspaper line that is controlled by the government. His interest lie in stories and books as he loves the idea of a world different to the one he lives in. The sub main character is a boy called Brenden, from one of the last cities (cities have mostly dispersed into towns). He's the son of a very important doctor / professor and is expected to follow in such footsteps but he prefers inventing and mechanics to biology. Rory and Brenden both have one goal: to fix this broken world even if it seems impossible. Rory wants to help the people he's seen in trips around the globe as their individual stories touch his heart. Brenden, despite not being interested in medics, he feels connected to the patience he interacts with and feels a responsibility to help them. When Rory goes on a business trip to the city where Brendan lives, to the government buildings to document the work of the “hardworking employees” him and Brendan interact and connect with each other. Over the length of Rory's business trip they grow close and build a platonic relationship of understanding and love - something that in this universe not many experience. This special relationship and the prominent desire for goodness and freedom in their heart caused a reaction that slowly fostered magical powers inside them. Their magical powers are not very evident at first, things easy to shrug off: until they begin to accidentally perform miracles on willpower alone => Brendan was with a patient he had interacted with frequently, a friend of sorts: a middle age pregnant woman who was being experimented on to see how they could assist her with the safe labour of her child, however the pregnancy was becoming increasingly hard on her body and it looked very much like she was on the brink of death. Brendan was desperate for her to live and couldn't witness another death, he began willing her to stay alive and when it looked like she was going to leave the earth forever, all of a sudden she became perfectly healthy and alive! Similarly, Rory had “willed” something to happen too. They begin to realise that their powers may be the key to saving humanity, but they cant let anyone find out as they would then be exploited. they basically go rogue and teach the ways of their powers to others and occasionally someone comes along who feels enough love and willpower to create magic too.

2. Epic Fantasy which morphs to Dark Fantasy -

—
XXX words

Part 2: Worldbuilding

(accidental post, refer to the one below lol)

Critique for Rue (@-NotWillow-):

Hi Rue! This was a cool piece. It was super interesting and your descriptions were definitely eye-catching, even if it felt like the reader was lacking information sometimes. I also really liked your pacing. I feel like a lot of the time, that's something that can be hard to regulate, but your story didn't feel rushed anywhere and your time cuts were reasonable. Seriously though, super interesting plot!

A little disclaimer that I put before any of my critiques: this is, like I said, a critique, so ofc I'm looking for any stuff that can be improved on, but that doesn't in any way mean your writing is bad! And if you don't like some of my recommendations, feel free to ignore them! This is your writing and should make YOU happy!

Ok, now here's the critique:

You sometimes alternate between the present and past tenses. I'd recommend sticking to one tense because it throws the reader off and looks like a mix-up rather than an intentional choice.

Some of your descriptions were a little awkward, such as these ones:

You no longer felt panic during this sudden process. But rather something you were acquainted with.

Frustration didn't surge into you anymore when you had to instantly put a stop to what you were doing, but you just sighed as you tried to quicken your death to resume.

I'm not quite sure what these phrases are describing, so I'd just try to make moments like that a little clearer.

Speaking of description, I also noticed that you could add a bit more transitions into your writing at times. For example, here:

You rushed over to the nearest generator you could find, might as well be useful.

“Oh! H-hey…” Noob greeted nervously, avoiding eye contact. You almost scoffed at their lack of self-esteem before feeling pity for them. Socializing wasn’t always the easiest for you either, and the current conditions probably took an added toll on them. Everyone responds to stressful situations differently, so perhaps this was how they did.

The generator hummed as you both finished, successfully untangling and connecting the colorful wires.

We don't know that Noob is there until they say something. Instead, try to let the reader know everything that's going on. Remember, when you're writing, the reader is blind, and can only see things if you tell them about them. I would add something along the lines of "Running over to the (insert some description of generator, like big grey box) , you saw Noob hiding behind it“ between the first and second paragraphs here, and ”Together, you started fixing the generator" between the second and third paragraphs. Like I said, this is just an example, so I would look back through and see if you can catch any other lapses of undescribed stuff that your reader wouldn't know about!

I really like this part:

This was in contrast with the other survivors. Chance and Shedletsky had a wide pace and always sauntered around … / … despite how corrupt these beings were, they still shared the same unintentional personalized habits as you did.

You did a nice job describing everyone, and you placed it in a really good location. It's a little after you meet Noob, where you're both fixing things, so it's really plausible that you start observing them while you're simultaneously working with them. I also like how you start talking about Noob, then connected that to other people, then to killers, then to the character's personal observation / note about themself. Good timing, pacing, connection, and background information in this part.

If you wanted, you could vary your syntax (sentence length), because it sometimes feels like it's the same in a lot of places. This is kinda extra tho

Nice fight scene

Those last two parts with the wings were super cool!

⪻ critiquitaire with @spr1ngt1m3summ3rrr ♪ 7/7/2026 ⪼

back to directory

for the notes section, if you wish to organize it better you can press space/the list function to every sub bullet point, such as this:

- common storyline:

• good vs evil
  

• good always wins
  

• “happily ever after”
  

• prince saves princess
  

this makes it easier to track everything! you can now easily see that “good vs evil” is an example of a common storyline! <3

as for the idea section, you could utlize bullet points to quickly get your ideas across instead of writing a whole paragraph!

the idea of the world follows the common storyline of “good vs evil!” i really like the idea how the corruption is an outside fource + there’s a cause of how the queen became evil unlike common fairy tropes where the queen is evil just because she wants power, etc. if you wish to expand more, you can explain how the girl was able to become friends with the higher ups, how she was able to manipulate them, and how her original powers influenced her control over the area.

example: freya was childhood friends with someone from a school. she wasn’t as good at school compared to the childhood friend. she decides to take a stroll to practice, where she found the crystal and became corrupted. she then manipulated the childhood friend to apply for a higher position in the town. when the friend got it, freya gaslights her into giving her a position too. she repeats this process until she’s in a high position herself, where she overthrows the friend and becomes a queen. the friend, outraged, plots her revenge (and eventually leads the rebellion)!

part 2:

i love the alliteration in the name “keen field”! :0 it really brings out the peacefulness of the place!

but as her fingers clasped around the gemstone, her magic was corrupted and twisted

you can explain how the crystal may have potentially affected freya’s powers! did her powers over creation become more powerful? how? was she able to create things larger/even create organic lifeforms then before? showing how the crystal was able to manipulate freya would also be extremely immersive! did it whisper in her ear? take control of her mind? perhaps freya initially attempted to resist but fell to the corruption!

which made Freya the first ever human in the Keen Fields to ever obtain dark magic.

something of note: freya is referred to as human in this part, which might cause confusion in the reader who potentially could've confused freya as an outsider, a regular human with no power. perhaps the people living in keen fields are a different species, such as elves, etc.?

The issues fed into each other, and a rupture between the world of fantasy and the world of reality occurred.

i also think it would be interesting for you to mention how the humans reacted to the fissure, such as if they decided to explore what caused it + nearly found keen field to make the world more cohesive!

Now, there's a resistance hoping to take down the evil ruler Freya and heal the rupture.

expanding on what made freya so evil would also help flesh out the motivations of the rebellion – did she unfairly kill peope? did she lay heavy taxes which enraged many? did she murder her family?

i think another cool thing for you to explore would be if there’s other crystal in the world – perhaps a light crystal that is created with peace and hope? it’s able to counter the black crystal which can work in the rebellion’s favor! :0

of course, these are all suggestions and ideas so please don’t feel pressured to include all of these if it isn’t what you want! <3

539 words

C-R-I-T-I-Q-U-I-T-A- Oh, I see that you’re preparing for the spelling bee too! Have you gotten around to violaceus or sesquipedalian yet? Well, in the mean time, you can head over to the newly opened Critiquitaire here: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1338440900/ to exchange some critiques with fellow writers (and make sure your spelling is nice and polished!)

this is a placeholder for today's date, may update if I finish a critique in time

03 - interview daily - 843/450 words

MANGO: Heya! Honestly not too sure how to start this off, so how about we start simple: tell me a bit about you. Basic info, how long you've been in SWC, stuff you're into, etc.

PEPPER: that sounds great haha, hi! i’m pepper, and this will be my eleventh session of swc i believe? i was a (co)leader for quite some time which is so much fun, but this session i was a bit busier so i decided to just be a camper this time around, and i’m absolutely obsessed with my cabin so that’s great! outside of swc, and just entirely offline i guess haha, i enjoy reading, dabbling in a bit of painting, and sports! right now the preseason for soccer has kept me really busy over the summer, and we actually just had some mini scrimmages last night with another school, but unfortunately i jumped up for the ball and my ankle snapped in half :’) it’s not broken or anything but i definitely think i sprained it and half been icing it throughout the day, but i wrapped it and it’s not hurting too bad so that’s good! as for painting, i don’t do a lot of it honestly, but i did just finish a painting of the northern lights which was really fun to do, and when i get the chance to paint and have motivation i really like it! im also a huge bookworm bahaha, i read just about 50 books this year, and my favorite genres are dystopian, fantasy, and some hifi or poetry from time to time. the best book series ive read this year is the naturals by jennifer lynn barnes, and my favorite stand alone was betting on you by lynn painter, a cute little romcom type book! what about your interests? i also really love music, so im curious what you listen to, or if we have any other similarities :0

MANGO: Hi Pepper! I'm Mango, and those hobbies sound like fun! In all honesty, I can't say we have too many similarities, though I dabble a bit into the arts too. Usually just drawing, and nothing all that special. Mainly my favpurite characters and my OCs, but I'm trying my hardest to get better at drawing backgrounds (it isn't going perfectly so far, but we all gotta start somewhere)! I also play the trumpet, and have been meaning to get back into the drums after barely touching them for 3 years. That Northern lights painting sounds super duper cool though! As for my other interests, I'm starting to get into programming (aside from Scratch) and I'm really enjoying myself so far! …aside from the times I want to bash my head into my keyboard when everything decides not to work. I also really want to get into voice acting, as I love to imitate and make up voices for characters, and I've actually recently been offered to voice act part of a story for a Christmas story telling my school. Does every year, so that's exciting, and hopefully a way to get my foot into the door of that industry as a side hustle. My music tastes… well, I'm always a bit embarrassed to talk about it. I usually only listen to video game OSTs, as I've never found myself to be a big lyric person, and I often connect those soundtracks to some really memorable moments of my life. What do you listen to? And any aspirations you have the future? (Also sorry to hear about your ankle, hopefully it heals well!)

PEPPER: oh nice! drawing is fun, but i cant say i’m too good at it bahaha, i’m definitely the type to doodle in the margins of assignments and notes and whatnot though ;D YOOO TRUMPET THAT’S SO COOL!! i play alto sax so there’s some musical similarities there :0 do you play for your school, or just for fun? bahaha head bashing is fair xD programming is so hard i dont know how people do it, but it sounds so cool! and woah voice acting, that’s so fun! i wish you luck in your christmas story telling ayy okay, soundtracks are cool though, and it’s not about the music as much as how it makes you feel ) some of my favorite music artists are hozier, noah kahan, laufey, three plus, forrest frank, and josiah queen, and then i also like listening to jazz, usually cannonball adderly, charlie parker, and valentino maltos! ooh and then my aspirations for the future hmm, the goal is to be a journalist, potentially an author on the side, as i’d love to publish a novel before i graduate highschool so that would be really awesome! otherwise i’ve always thought working for the zoo would be fun bahahah, or like an investigative officer or something. what about you? (and thanks hahah)

MANGO: Ooh, an alto sax player? I've always wanted to try a sax, they sound so cool! I mainly play for school, as I don't actually own my own trumpet, but I often fiddle around with it and attempt playing non-school related songs. And as for the voice acting, thank you! I'm really hyped for it, too bad it's like 5 months away. While I've never heard any of the artists you've stated, that's so cool that you like jazz! I've never really guven it a proper chance but the ocassional time I listen to it, I have to admit it sounds nice. Also beimg a journalist sounds awesome! I don't think I could do it myself as I'm more into creative writing (and mainly only for fun), but it's certainly a fun aspiration. Especially writing a novel! I've tried so many times to make one myself and miserably failed, so I hope you find more success than me in publishing! And working in a zoo also sounds like fun! Me personally, I've been aspiring to become an indie game dev for the past couple of years. I would've tried to get into working for an already existing compamy if my parents didn't attempt to push me away from it because of the supposed poor working conditions and ai being shoved in every crevice of the industry. But I think indie development would be more fun anyways. Though that's clearly more a side project than anything, though I have no idea what I'd do as a primary career. Any other questions or remarks you wanna make (as I'm genuinely running out of ideas of what to ask ;-?

PEPPER: ahh yes, i enjoy playing sax so much, but trumpets are also so cool, my best friend plays trumpet and it’d be so cool to mess around a little bit one day and try :0 and with your story telling five months away, at least it’ll give you plenty of time to practice! admittedly i haven’t dabbled much in non creative writing much either, except for the occasional informative/argumentative essay in school, but seeing as an author isn’t a really stable career unless you get famous on booktok or something bahahah, but i’d love to pursue some sort of writing career ) that sounds so cool! although yes, it is a bummer ai is kind of taking over the creative arts in some ways :') i bet we’ve both reached the word count already, but maybe some rapid fire ice breakers? i’ve kind of hit a spot with poor service, so im sorry it took a while to respond bahahah ^^' what’s your favorite food? favorite ice cream flavor? how would you describe your style? favorite book?

MANGO: The trumpet is certainly worth trying once (though I've definitely found it to be one of the more difficult band instruments to learn, so maybe if you are to try it at all, maybe more than once ). And yeah, I suppsoe that's fair. The difficulty of making creative writing into a stable career is definitely a big reason why I've strayed away from that, as it was a real big dream of mine when I was younger. Also, no worries about taking a bit longer than usual. But to answer your questions, I absolutely love burritos. If I had to choose one thing to eat forever, it would certainly be that. I never get sick of them, there's so much variety you can put into them. Everything about them is absolute perfection to me. Favourite ice cream flavour, probably salted caramel, or really any flavour that includes caramel. And by style, do you mean clothing style? Because if so, I can't really say I have one. I just pick clothing I feel comfortable in and kinda go about my day. And although I must admit I don't read too many books, but I did somewhat recently read Jenette McCurdy's autobiography (or something along those lines), “I'm Glad My Mom Died” (I know, that's an absolutely brutal title to just say out of absolutely nowhere). I'm usuall more of a fiction reader, but I found it to he a really bittersweet and hard read, but an intriguing and insightful one. Probably not my favourite, but up there in recent memory. Oh wait I entirely forgot to ask, to wrap up, what are your answers to those questions (aside from the book one simce you already said it before)

PEPPER: BURRITOS ARE SO YUMMY YOURE SO REAL FOR THAT!! and i love a good caramel ice cream too :0 im lowkey obsessed with ice cream so just about any flavor im down for bahaha, but yes caramel is so good, whether as ice cream or not <3 and yes! i did mean clothing style, but that’s so valid im definitely the same way. sometimes i down to leave the house in sweatpants and a big hoodie, but it all depends on my mood hahah. bro yes that’s definitely an interesting title xD but hey if its good it’s good! my favorite food is chicken and dumplings, and i’d have to go with mint chocolate chip as my favorite ice cream flavor! and my clothing style is pretty basic and casual i guess, i just like to be comfy too so im usually in a hoodie and jeans or sweatpants hahaha! anyway, thanks for being my interview partner for the daily, it was fun chatting!

MANGO: Ayyy! There's some similarities. Mint chocolate chip's also an epic flavor too. And thanks for being my partner too, Pepper! Have a great SWC! ^-^

02 - misheard lyric title prompt - 774/500 words
misheard lyric: “i'd cross the border of the wheat lands”
actual lyric: “i've crossed the borderline of weightless” (i, carrion by hozier)

—

I wake to the sound of a harvest officer's incessant knocking on my rickety wooden door and the faint clamor of sputtering motors and clattering bins outside my window, where trucks line the street.

“I'm here on behalf of the district's Wheat Collection Service,” the officer says. I groan, forcing my eyes open as I push warm blankets off my body, then rise to answer the door. “Oh my days, Wilson, get out of bed,” the officer whispers harshly, in a voice I am all too familiar with. “I will barge in there myself if I have to, you lazy, arrogant—”

“I think that's enough name calling for this morning, Jackie,” I respond, twisting the handle to pull the door open. I give a hoarse laugh, leaning on the door frame with my arms crossed. “What's this about?”

Her shoulders tense, posture straightening. Wispy auburn hair loosely frames her face as she looks down at her clipboard, hazel eyes carefully trained on whatever's written there. “Today we're collecting a portion of your wheat produce from the year.” She clears her throat. “Did you meet the quota?”

“Which is?”

“100 bushels.”

"And how does the district expect me to harvest 100 bushels of wheat with less than an acre of land, with no one to help me manage it all? Do they know that every time they pull up poor farmers into their big corporal wheat labs, they're stealing from the rest of us? How can they enforce a ridiculous wheat quota every year if they keep stripping us of land and our own workers? Riddle me that, Jackie.“

”Wilson, please.“ She lets out an exasperated sigh. ”You know that's not what's happening.“

”That's a big lie, and we both know it. How come they don't use the big wheat field just outside the town? There's plenty there that grows every year.“

Jackie shakes her head, eyes softening. ”No one can cross into that field, it's been fenced off for years, ever since we were kids. Why would they change it now? It's dangerous, and we're better off without it anyway.“

”Have you ever been back there? Let's go, tonight.“ Before I realize what I'm doing, I reach for her hand. Surprise flashes across her face as she steps out of my grasp. ”There's plenty of wheat to fuel the entire district just sitting out there,“ I plead.

”No, Wilson. Look, if you can't meet your quota, just tell me. There's extension periods I can offer, or you can just choose to pay for what you weren't able to grow this year.

“Fine, one night. I just need one night.”

Her brows furrow, as she begins writing. “That's irrational, don't you think…” I smirk as she's overcome with realization and looks up from her work, lips curved in a disapproving frown. “Oh, c'mon, you can't do that. And now that you've told me, I have to report you.”

I give her a shrug before turning to go back inside, and this time it's her that reaches for me. “Wait.” She pauses, running a hand through her hair and grimacing, murmuring something to herself. “What if I helped you. I want to see what's back there too.”

I flash her a grin. “Only if you're one hundred percent in.” She nods, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “I'll pick you up at seven.”


- - -

Jackie only lived a few streets away, but with all the Wheat Collection Service trucks still camped out on the side of the road, it took twice as long trying to weave through them and the other cars driving. After a little while, I pulled into her driveway, my white jeep kicking up gravel on the ground behind. She walked briskly out her house at the sound of my honk, pulling open the passenger side door and sitting down in the front seat next to me.

“We can use my ID badge to get in,” she stammered, holding the card up in the air so I could see before shoving it back in her pocket. I nodded, and we drove silently for a few minutes before we ended up at the fence line. I slowed to a stop and parked the car, pulling the keys out of the ignition. Jackie took a deep breath as she got out of the car, and I followed suit, meeting her outside. She swiped her badge in front of a screen, and the fence slowly began sliding open.

She stood there, silently staring into the wheat field.

“Jackie, are you ready?” I asked her.

She looked at me hesitantly, then grabbed my hand firmly. “Let's go.”

01 word war - goldenglorymindz - 246 words - win/loss

prompt: “hey earth! it's gravity. i'm taking a break.”

—

once upon a time there was a planet called earth that suddenly lost gravity. gravity warned her that she'd be taking a break for the day, but earth figured she was kidding, as all of human life depended on her not taking a break. alas, she did it anyway, and all of a sudden everything was levitating in the air. because earth thought gravity was kidding, she didnt bother to warn the citizens living on her land masses, and they were unaware gravity was going to collapse until it actually happened. one person in particular remembers dropping her coffee all over as she was flung into the air, the hot liquid staining her clothes and bruning her arms. she tried to continue drinking what was left in the mug after being sent hovering in the air, but it didnt work as well as she'd imagined. another civilian remembers walking his dog, when suddenly he too was sent in the air, flying around in zero gravity. his dog barked uncontrollably for the rest of the dya, until gravity ended her break, and the dog lost his voice because of how long he was barking, which was completely unknown to happen until that day. the last person who told her story was a girl named bethy, who was in the middle of a soccer match when she and the rest of her teammates got caught off guard with the sudden disapreance of being grounded to earth. the ball

Critiquitaire 1
Critique for moosywoosy

I think the story is very interesting, making the reader want to read more and capturing their attention straight from the start. I also like the way the resolution builds up with short phrases. In some places, the description is also very clear, like the sentence “ She bit straight through the skin—and juice spilt down from the corner of her lips.” To improve and help the flow of this story, one thing I will do is make the times a little less confusing. For example, in some parts you could add “A few days later, I saw my sister…” so that the reader can more clearly indicate the time. Another part I will improve and help the reader understand more, is to add a bit more explanation for why the mother hated lemons, even though part of the story may be about that. If you were deliberately trying to capture the audience with that, then I would suggest write more sentences explaining that the main character didn’t know why, to make it clearer for the reader. Overall, great job! Especially on capturing the reader's attention at the start. My feedback is to focus more on making the explanation and times clearer to the reader.