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Short Story -Riven of a Thousand Voices by Ethan Roberts

The migthy Athamkara could grand wishes for whatever you wanted and all they want in return is a favour. The first thing you might ask yourself is, “What are Athamkara and where do they come from?” My friend, I will answer all of your questions in time but you must listen to me as I am going to tell you a story about one Athamkara in particular.

This Athamkara is the last Athamkara that we know of. The Athamkara’s name is Riven, Riven of a Thousand Voices. Only few fireteams have braved the journey to defeating Riven and have never been seen since, all except for one fireteam.

The Athamkara are wish dragons and Riven’s final wish is to be killed. This fireteam had passed all of the steps to defeating Riven and they killed her. Eons passed and fireteams from thourghout the universe had taken on Riven and defeated her, but you ask, “If Riven’s final wish was to be killed then why does she keep coming back to life?”I will answer this question.

Riven can never die no matter what and her final wish was to be immortal. The fireteams had to venture deep and far into the dreaming city to find and defeat Riven. Many people to this day still have to confront Riven and they are scared of that name. It sends a shiver down some people’s spine just like when they hear the name Oryx or Corta. You may wonder why people did this and sacrificed their lives? They did this because long before Riven was killed, a king named Oryx who was the taken king and the father of Corta stood and had almost wiped out the human race.

More guardians took it upon themselves to defeat Oryx. The vanguard and others thought that Riven might do the same so they needed her killed. After this a long time has passed and it has been peaceful, but we fear that demons are rising on the moon and we are watching just in case, but for now we live in peace and we hope it stays this way for a long, long time.

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War -a short story by Dara Ryan

War. The single worst thing ever created by man. To the
masses, those who do not see it first-hand, do not truly
experience it, war is just a board game, a way for the
presidents and ministers and chancellors to settle a petty
dispute. To those people an army is just a number, a solider a
faceless uniform. To those people war is just another thing to
be noted down for the history books.
But then there are those who do go to war. The delusional
ones go willingly, dreaming of grandeur and glory, of fighting
for their country, of medals and endless celebration. The
sane ones are forced; they dream only of a quiet life. I was
not one of the sane ones.
Even the most delusional recruits are changed by war. To a
solider war is a terrifying thing. Each second is a year, a year
of nothing but darkness and deafening noise. And you pray to
God each of those seconds isn’t your last. And God doesn’t
always answer those prayers. I realised that quick enough.
The ones who survive are considered the “lucky ones”. I
certainly wouldn’t call myself lucky. No matter how much
praise, recognition or medals I get, it will never be worth the
atrocities I saw and the scars they left me with.
To the masses, those who do not see it first-hand, do not
truly experience it, war is a battle between good and evil.
There is no good or evil in war.

There is only death.