Ficool

history

On The Edge of The Abyss

1940. The Hanseatic Empire stands as one of the world's great powers, ruling its vast continent in the South Atlantic, they were determined to remain neutral as Europe descends into war. But neutrality offers no protection from matters of the heart. Captain Kylian von Reichsgraf has been raised for duty, ten centuries of family tradition have prepared him for diplomacy, protocol, and service to the crown. Nothing has prepared him for Princess Changning. Sent to observe a crumbling Chinese dynasty's last desperate alliance with Japan, Kylian finds himself seated beside an imperial princess at a wedding meant to save her nation. In stolen conversations across impossible divides of culture and rank, he discovers something his training never anticipated: a woman whose intelligence matches her grace, whose convictions challenge his own, and whose very presence unravels everything he thought he understood about duty and desire. But while Kylian wages his silent war between honor and longing, the world erupts into open conflict. His closest friend, Wolfgang von Witzland, trades youthful idealism for cold vengeance, learning too late that righteous rage and monstrous cruelty can wear the same face. Meanwhile, Wolfgang's cousin, Elke von Witzland, a prodigy of the Hanseatic Navy Air Corps, climbs into the cockpit, seeing the coming firestorm not as a damnation, but as her divine right—a stage for the glory she believes is hers to claim. In a world where duty, honor, and hierarchy are paramount, love becomes the most dangerous battlefield of all. Update: 1 Chapter a week.
Soul_is_sundered · 21.9k Views

The Royal Engagement: Our Bratty Marriage

Being a royal, you must give up the dream to choose your partner. When plague and war wipe out the imperial heirs of Solanir, sixteen-year-old Orion von Solanir is forced onto a throne he was never meant to inherit. Crowned too young, burdened too soon, and being the most imbelic young man a lady can ever withstand. marriage. Enter Selina von Marcelline, daughter of the duke of a rival kingdom and a living clause in a fragile treaty. Sent to Solanir as a political offering, she is expected to become the empire’s perfect crown princess—graceful, obedient, and silent. She fails spectacularly. as every single thing here test's her patience and sanity. Their first meeting ends with insults, blood signatures, and Orion being thrown out of a window—literally. What begins as open hostility quickly turns into a vicious battle of words, pride, and bruised egos. To the court, they are a blessed union meant to stabilize the continent. In private, they are sworn enemies sharing a crown. But hatred is rarely simple. Orion’s cruelty hides a deeper wound—one born from betrayal within his own family, where power, desire, and silence destroyed what little innocence he had left. Selina, sharp-tongued and observant, begins to notice the cracks beneath his arrogance- and simply that's not her problem to deal with. Meanwhile, Selina carries her own scars. Abandoned by her father, bound by blood treaties, and surrounded by a royal family riddled with secrets, she learns that Solanir’s court is far more dangerous than the battlefield ever was. Allies wear smiles. Apologies come too late. And even family can be the sharpest blade. As festivals turn into threats, treaties into traps, and enemies into reluctant partners, Selina and Orion are forced into proximity they never wanted—sharing lessons, public appearances, and a future neither chose. In a court where loyalty is performative, love is political, and survival demands cruelty, one question remains: Can two broken heirs learn to trust each other before the empire tears them apart? Or will their marriage become just another royal tragedy written in blood?
Nekomata00 · 1.7k Views

THOSE SECRET STAINED WITH BLOOD

Fate is treated like law—recorded, preserved, unquestioned. But history is not the truth. It is what survives. For years, I’ve carried memories that are not mine—visions of executions, betrayals, and events erased from all records. Speaking of them invites isolation. Silence became survival. A university research program brought me back to India after years abroad. The project wasn’t about preserving history—it was about uncovering what civilizations hide, what narratives are rewritten, Who benefits from forgetting. How advanced they were and what connection it has with other countries. With a small group—some friends, some mere acquaintances—we were meant to research, But curiosity pulled us to ancient temples, more for knowledge or amusement than research. And there, the temples remembered me. Each site sent violent sensory intrusions crashing through my mind—recognition without context, pain without injury. My teammates looked at me with suspicion, confusion, even fear. Until I made a temple bell fall on my own head. Consciousness returned in fragments. A sharp metallic impact. Pain blooming across my skull. Voices overlapping in a language I understood only in broken pieces. Every word I tried to speak landed wrong. My body was wrong, my gender was changed. My presence… forbidden. Then hands seized me. Too many hands. I was dragged upright, feet scraping stone, vision swimming with furious faces. Someone shouted a word I didn’t know—but the intent was crystal clear: Death. Stones flew first. Threats came next. A blade rushed forward before armored soldiers forced the crowd back. Their presence didn’t calm anyone. It sharpened them. Half-carried, bound, I was led through streets older than memory, into a palace already arranged for judgment. Inside, voices rose—officials, nobles, demanding immediate execution. Betrayal, deception, false death. And all for a body I did not recognize as mine. Then, silence. A man entered. Young, composed, dangerous in the way that restrained things are. No crown, yet all authority in the room bent to him. Even the bloodthirsty lowered their eyes. He looked at me—and the air shifted. Recognition. Sharp. Personal. A mistake made twice. I knew him instantly, despite impossibility. History would later label him a tyrant, a name associated with cruelty, mass punishment, and deliberate erasure. The arguments resumed, louder now, demanding the king’s permission to end me. They insisted this man must die before he destroyed everything. But The prince defended me. Even risking his crown, his life. Not for me—but for the body I occupied, the truth it carried. Execution was delayed. Not forgiven. Not denied. Simply postponed. Under watch, I breathed where I should not have. My goal wasn’t to prove innocence—I didn’t even know whose life I had stepped into. It was to find a way home that may not exist. And yet, the truth began to surface—not through confessions, but through absence. This body had uncovered something hidden deep within the palace. Something that turned admiration into hatred, loyalty into murder, in a single heartbeat. The man whose name I wore had once been loved. Then silenced for exposing a truth no one dared to see. Why am I here? Why in his body, bearing a past I did not live but must reckon with? They will try to kill me again. History will repeat itself. The innocent will be labeled sinful. The broken will be the key. The truth… will demand blood. But I am not him.
THRAYAKH · 4.1k Views