Forged
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What had started as a faint warmth deep inside her now burned fiercely, as though her very blood had caught fire. Her heart thundered in her chest, and the flames creeping along the walls of her room seemed to match the erratic rhythm of her breathing.
Series
- Part 1 of Forged
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Farah stood beside Saul, staring down at the gruesome image before her. The body was twisted, barely recognizable, the remnants of a brutal attack etched into what was left of him. A chill crept through her, but it wasn’t the cold bite of the mid-morning air that caused it. No—this was something far worse, something she had feared for years but had never allowed herself to fully acknowledge. Not to her colleagues, not even to herself.
Series
- Part 2 of Forged
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Saul stayed like that, trapped in the silence, for what felt like an eternity. His breaths were shallow, irregular, each one more labored than the last. He could hear the slowing rhythm of his own pulse, feel his heart weakening with every minute that passed. But he resisted. He had to. He couldn’t allow her to feel the pain of losing him, to tell Sky what had happened to him. He had to be strong for them—for her. He was her specialist, and as long as he had breath, he would protect her, no matter the cost.
The darkness crept closer, inch by inch, but Saul focused on that connection. He held it tightly, like a lifeline, willing it to keep him anchored, to keep him alive. For her.Series
- Part 3 of Forged
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Can I truly ask this of her? The question had haunted Zephyra for months, a shadow that lingered in the stillness of their shared nights, weaving itself into every unspoken moment between them. It gnawed at her during the silences, in the quiet glances exchanged over rations with the rest of the battalion, and in the fragile seconds of intimacy they managed to steal from the demands of duty. Was it selfish—wanting more than this life, more than the constant cycle of duty? Wanting something that didn’t revolve around the battlefield, something softer, quieter, and far from the violence that had come to define them both?
Series
- Part 4 of Forged
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A hollow ache spread through her chest, gnawing at her insides like a relentless whisper. What if this was it? The thought was suffocating. What if there was nothing more to find? Her eyes darted around the cluttered room, at the dusty boxes and forgotten trunks—discarded memories of a place no one cared about anymore. She wondered if she was like them. Forgotten. Tucked away in some corner where no one would ever think to look.
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The candles flickered, casting a fragile light that wavered and warped the shadows stretching across the cold stone floor. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, as though any words might shatter the delicate quiet that had settled around them. Farah’s thoughts, however, were far from quiet. They raced, circling the same endless fears and unanswered questions. The weight of choices yet to be made, of battles yet to be fought, pressed down on her. She had always tried to be the strong one—the one to carry others, to guide, to protect. But now, with Saul sitting there, barely holding on, she felt that strength unraveling, slipping through her fingers like sand.
And she couldn’t stop it.Series
- Part 5 of Forged
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"Carefully, Bloom lifted the lid, revealing a small collection of items, each one a fragment of another life, memories folded and tucked away like hidden treasures."
__If Bloom were to tell her story, three events would demand their place: two, haunted by shadows, she longed to forget; the third, a memory bathed in warmth, she held close to her heart like a hidden flame against the cold.
Series
- Part 6 of Forged
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"Ben’s body moved before his mind caught up. He reached into his coat and found the small vial, fingers curling instinctively around the glass. The cork’s edges bit into his skin—comforting, in its way. Real. He stepped forward, held the vial into the center of the haze. The smoke responded immediately, as if it knew what it was being asked to do. It coiled toward the glass, flickering with soft pulses of light, like a breath being drawn and exhaled all at once.
When he straightened, the silence had thickened, like the walls were holding their breath.'He was killed by magic,' he said. Quiet. Steady. Not a question. Not anymore.
Farah exhaled beside him, and it wasn’t the kind of breath you took to steady yourself—it was the kind you released after holding it for far too long. 'Well, at least now we know where he went.'
Saul’s voice came after. Not loud, but sharp. Final. 'And that there’s a murderer in our school.'"
Series
- Part 7 of Forged
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“She catalogued the damage with clinical detachment. Her leg was a ruin of blood and torn flesh. Her side burned. Her shoulder throbbed with a deep, jagged ache. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.
Pain was irrelevant. It had to be. Rosalind’s first and most vital lesson: Pain is data. Not a distraction. Process it and move on.
Pain was the toll. The currency of survival. Something to bite down on until your teeth cracked, something to bleed through until your vision darkened at the edges. Pain wasn’t the enemy—it was the price exacted for standing your ground, for daring to stay upright when every fiber of your being begged you to fall. Pain was proof she was still here.
This wasn’t about pain.
This was about the stark, primal arithmetic of not dying.
And Farah Dowling, bloodied and broken, pushed to the very precipice of her power and staring into the abyss of her own limits, discovered a terrifying, exhilarating truth: she was not ready to die.”Series
- Part 8 of Forged