Fantasy & Sci-Fi Stories

The mirror arrived on a Tuesday, a heavy, ornate monstrosity wrapped in stained burlap and leaning against my apartment door. No note, no return address.

I used to avoid mirrors after midnight.

The air in the clearing shimmered, thick with the scent of honeysuckle and something older, wilder, that made my teeth ache. I clutched my sister’s hand, her fingers cold and trembling in mine.

I never thought I’d get used to the silence. Not a true silence, of course—the Aurora Station hums with the low-grade, omnipresent thrum of life support, a mechanical heartbeat.

The conference room on Station Vesta smelled faintly of recycled air and ozone from the overhead lights, but when Ambassador Kael of the Zeyari swept in, the metallic tang was replaced by something...

The chalk circle on my attic floor looked perfect—every sigil copied from the grimoire, every Latin phrase pronounced exactly as the phonetic guide suggested. I’d spent three weeks preparing for t...

The rain in London was a different creature than the rain in Paris. In Paris, it was a soft veil, a melancholy backdrop for lovers and poets.

The crystal vial trembled in Lysandra's gloved fingers as she studied her reflection in the bronze mirror. Tonight marked her two hundredth anniversary as the kingdom's premier enchantress, and th...

The haptic gloves slip over your fingers like silk, cool and weightless until the calibration pulse hums through your palms. You’re sitting on the edge of the immersion couch in the boutique parlo...

The forest air tasted of pine and damp earth, a sharp, clean scent that did nothing to calm the storm in Elara’s blood. The moon, a silver coin pressed against the velvet black of the sky, was not...

The android designated K-17 registered the impact of plasma fire against his left shoulder plating, the pain sensors flaring to life like stars igniting. He pivoted, returning fire with mechanical...

The candle flickered, casting shadows that danced across the library's vaulted ceiling. I pressed my palm flatter against the ancient page, feeling the raised ink of a sharing spell—a theoretical ...

The sea tasted of salt and panic, a cold, dark broth that filled his lungs as the storm’s fist held him under. Leo had always respected the ocean’s temper, but on that night, it felt personal.

The first time I read a stranger’s mind, I was seven years old. I heard my teacher thinking about how much she hated the smell of finger-paint and how she wished she’d married the accountant instead.

The first thing I noticed was the heat—dry, ancient, and wrong for this high meadow where snowmelt still pooled between rocks. I’d come to the Dragon’s Spine to die, though I hadn’t admitted it al...

The *Odysseus* hummed, a low, constant thrum against Kael's bones as he floated in the narrow access corridor, his face inches from the atmospheric recycler's primary filter. The air here tasted m...