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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 · 1.2k Views

Gods of Pangaeos

In the mist before GENESIS, Fate and Chance and Others cast tolls upon their names, while the chalice did burn and churn whose crown should be. And he that won strode through the mist unto YOD-VAV-HEH and cried: “Lo, wake upon the mist and create the heavens and the earth and make gods for me, for I have won over the crown and thy mist is mine to rule.” And so as the cry was heard Fate and Chance and Others bowed, But whether it was Fate or Chance or Another that won the cast of the tolls before GENESIS—none-knoweth. .............................................................. Welcome to Gods of Pangaeos. ​This work is a reimagining of the creation myth, written as a stylistic marriage between the liturgical structure of Genesis and the high-fantasy, rhythmic prose of Lord Dunsany’s The Gods of Pegāna. ​In this world, the Creator is a sleeper, and the world we know is merely a "Game" played by smaller, whimsical deities during His slumber. You will find echoes of our own earth’s deep past—Pangaea, Panthalassa, and Gondwana—woven into a tapestry of myth and "The Word." ​A Note on Style: The text uses archaic phrasing and repetitive structures to mimic ancient holy books. If the gods seem cruel or indifferent, remember: to them, we are but the pieces on a board. ​I hope you enjoy the "Game." ​Art Disclaimer ​Cover Illustration: "MANA-YOOD-SUSHAI" by Sidney Sime (1906). ​ ​Note on the Artwork: The illustration used for this cover is a masterpiece by Sidney Sime, originally created for Lord Dunsany’s The Gods of Pegāna. As this artwork was published over 100 years ago, it resides in the Public Domain. ​While the image originally depicted the deity Mana-Yood-Sushai, it has been chosen for this work to represent the Great Stillness of YOD-VAV-HEH. I use this art as a tribute to the golden age of mythic illustration that inspired the tone of Gods of Pangaeos.
Kai_The_Author · 438 Views

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: 2 Chapters a week.
Soul_is_sundered · 16.4k Views