☆ fate 𓂃 ִֶָ 🌦🎗

@wheelofate.bsky.social

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| they/them ⋆ 21+ ⋆ 🇨🇦 (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ | aspiring author. ttrpg nerd. queer ⋆ bipoc ⋆ neurodivergent CURRENT WIP: The Seeds We Sow Trilogy 🌱🪻💫

A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: "My name is Lunnzahn, but my friends call me Lunn." "Are we friends?" The man asked almost teasingly, raising an eyebrow. Lunnzahn surprised himself when he didn't hesitate to respond with, "If you want to be, but you'll have to tell me your name first." The man's soft laugh graced his ears, and it made him feel like he could drop dead right there and feel accomplished. "Well, though I am surprised you do not already know who I am, I find it a pleasure to meet you, Lunn," the man said, name rolling off his tongue like it was meant to sit there for an eternity. "My name is Tirian, though most will know me better as Lord Calloway of Akordia." Oh, so I'm royally screwed. Lunnzahn thought. Politics weren't his strong suit, but he knew enough to understand that the man before him was quite possibly the most powerful figure in the seven kingdoms. Instead of dwelling on that, he found himself saying, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Tirian."
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: Panic gripped her heart like a hunter's trap as she tried again and again, but nothing took effect. Mana did not gather, energy did not build up in the palms of her hands or rush to her fingertips, comforting telltale scents did not find their way to her nose. One moment, her magic had been there, and the next, it was gone like dandelion seeds in the wind. At first, her eyes found the small, particular black mark on her hand, blaming someone who could have been at fault without any real proof. Then, Jasper made it clear. "Aw, are your nerves getting the best of you?" They taunted, something disgustingly dark receding back under their skin. From any other angle, at any other distance, it would have been impossible to see. Amaya had half a mind to realize that was the point. "It's alright, princess. Not everyone is able to withstand the pressure of battle." Amaya could only hope this was a temporary effect as her eyes flicked towards the clock. Just under five minutes left and she was essentially helpless, left to survive until the clock hit zero if she wanted to share first place with the despicable person mere fifteen feet away. There was no way she could beat Jasper without magic, but were two more points worth holding on? Forfeiting was not an option for her, but she took the time to consider how hard she should fight for first place. In the end, a spark of hope was all she had— and she held onto it like a lifeline. She swam forward again, nothing but her bare fists raised and ready.
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: "I have to get back on the road with my team," Luna said. Lunnzahn felt his entire body sink, and his stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought of being separated from his sister again. "We have a few jobs to get done now that the tournament is over." "We'll see you again though, right?" Lunnzahn asked, unable to help the way his voice shook. Luna was someone he considered poor at recognizing other's emotions, but she read him like an open book. "Of course you will. It's my duty as your sister to meet an annoyance quota," Luna reassured him. Lunnzahn knew there was no annoyance quota. "It's likely we'll run into each other on the road, but you're also free to reach out via arcane messages whenever you'd like." A pause. "Are you pressuring me to learn a spell just so I can talk to you?" Lunnzahn asked. There was no anger burning its way through his chest, just gentle admiration only a sister could evoke. "I'm encouraging you," Luna insisted, shrugging one shoulder. She reached up to ruffle his hair, careful of his ears, and Lunnzahn leaned into the touch. "It's been a pleasure to get to know all of you."
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: "You're playing their game," Zeivran murmured, a hint of concern overriding his admiration. "Yeah, sure," Art sighed, rolling his eyes. "I think I'm just fumbling my way through everything. C'mon, how do you even play a game if you don't remember the rules?" Zeivran shrugged. "Brute force." "Creativity?" Amaya offered. "Strategic thinking," Cricket said. "You give it your best shot!" Lunnzahn exclaimed. Art laughed. "Okay, fair enough," he conceded.
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: The scene shifted, and they found themselves back in the field from a few memories prior, except everything within it was destroyed. There was not a single lavender flower left behind, the grass and the homes of the quaint village alike burned to a crisp, and before them was a sight that could only be described as equally terrifying and pitiful. Spread out before a barely bruised Lor'vana, each of the pantheon members were battered and bloodied, some on their hands and knees while others were leaning on each other for support. Even together, they were clearly at a disadvantage against her. One of the few still standing without the need for support, Amaryllis took a deep breath and turned to Xaria who was swaying slightly on her feet. She pulled her lover into a kiss, and its intention was clear. She was breaking their promise, and saying goodbye. Amaryllis stepped forward and raised a magical barrier between herself and the rest of the pantheon, blocking the few who rushed forward to try to stop her. She began to weave the spell for the ritual immediately, the gentle blue and silver hues of her magic mixing with the brilliant gold of the Realm's very own arcane power, descending from the sky above and sealing the fate she chose. Her body shattered, her soul separating into seven pieces that shot across the sky in different directions, and she made her final creation — the seal. In the end, creation only existed to give meaning to sacrifice. The scene shifted, but the cries of utter agony stuck with them.
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: The group stepped through the door and into the next memory, finding themselves in a large room that looked to be a mix between an office and a personal library. Wandering aimlessly, flipping through the pages of a book without a title, was none other than Lor'vana, The Twisted Majesty. As the door closed and sealed them into the memory, she closed the book and placed it on the desk. Then, in the following moment, two familiar figures teleported into the room: Chance and Choice. Reacting instinctively, she summoned fire in the palm of her hand, but the two held up their hands. "Whoa, whoa, it's just us!" Chance yelled, panicked. "Don't shoot the messengers!" She froze, seeming to contemplate his words as she examined the twins, and then closed her fist, snuffing out the fire within. "What are you doing here?" She demanded, a hint of annoyance in her tone. "I thought I told you to tell the pantheon to stop sending messages. What could they possibly want now?" The twins shared hesitant looks before the former stepped forward. "The pantheon is at a loss. You've driven them to a dead end and they have no other ideas," he admitted. "They're planning to kill you." She scoffed. "I'd like to see them try."
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: He lowered himself to the floor with Art in his arms, panic gripping his chest when those bright blue eyes did not meet his own. He was surrounded in an instant, everyone else crumbling to their sides. "Art, c'mon, please stay," Amaya pleaded, her hands finding the tear in his shirt. In what little miracle they could receive, it seemed as if all traces of whatever poison had been coursing through Art's system had vanished, leaving only a gnarly wound behind. Amaya's hands lit up, immediately joined by Luna's hands and Lunnzahn's paws, and arcane rays of purple and green shades melded together as the trio focused their remaining strength on healing. Without the poison, the wound was child's play. Even still, Art did not open his eyes. "Come on, bud," Aba murmured, gripping one of Art's hands as if he could squeeze life back into him. "You gotta wake up." Zeivran did not know who would wake up or how many memories they would have, but deep down, he knew that had never been the issue. He wanted to be someone important to them. In every iteration, in every lifetime, he wanted to be able to hold their hand without fearing they would pull away.
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: All eyes turned to Zeivran. It took him a moment to notice them before he simply shrugged. "What? Can't say I'm surprised. My name attracts attention, just how it is." He didn't seem nervous; if anything, he seemed a bit annoyed. "I'm gonna kick that guy's ass, though. I feel sorry for him." "Don't put him out of commission on the first day, Zeiv," Art sighed. "The last thing we need right now is a team coming after us outside of tournament hours." Cricket perked up at this, his eyes darting between the two. Since when did Art use a nickname for Zeivran? He noticed the way Zeivran's shoulders tensed, head snapping towards Art, but there was no annoyance or anger written across his features— there was recognition. Fighting against a sudden spark of curiosity, Cricket decided to tuck that away for later, for when he was in a better headspace. This team might have known each other's darkest secrets, but he knew better than to think their deepest ones had also been put on display. His own had not. "I said kick his ass, not beat the shit out of him," Zeivran replied as if there was a difference, rolling his shoulders. Whether it was to stretch or to release the sudden tension, Cricket was not sure.
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: As the applause died down, Sir Marwood continued. "I trust you have all been enjoying yourselves. Before we return to the night's festivities, there are speeches to be made in honor of Lady Weiss." He adjusted his glasses and glanced at the parchment in his hands. "To begin, please join me in giving a warm welcome to a man we all know and love: Lord Tirian Calloway of Akordia." Zeivran could not help but roll his eyes at the grand introduction, knowing Tirian well enough to consider it ridiculous, and the raucous applause that followed it. As the well-dressed man stepped up to the stage, shaking hands with Sir Marwood before waving politely to the crowd, Zeivran watched with narrowed eyes as the Lord unexpectedly looked into the sea of nobility, seeming to search for someone. His heart leapt for a moment as he thought of an old friend, but he quickly shoved the thought away when a familiar cat paw shot out from next to him to wave back. It only took one look back and forth for the puzzle pieces to fit together, whether or not Tirian had actually been looking for Lunnzahn. Like two idiot peas in an air-tight pod, Zeivran thought, shaking his head a bit. He sincerely doubted it, but he hoped no one else caught that. Looks like I don't have to ask Lunnzahn about who he met anymore.
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: The minute Cricket brought over the mugs, most of which were filled with hot chocolate except for Lunnzahn's, the rest of them popped open their gifts to quell Amaya's curiosity— and their own. Lunnzahn's tail wagged happily behind him as he examined the vest made of beautiful brown leather sitting in his box, his own star bracelet and lucky coin resting on top. "Now, believe what you'd like, but I had reasons for gifting what I did," Sasha started cautiously, like he was asking permission to explain. Five curious gazes made him smile and continue with excitement. "The leather for Lunnzahn has glamour magic, so you decide what it looks like to others even though it'll still act like armor— which I imagine is hard for a catfolk like you to find. The necklace for Cricket will give him an advantage against certain traps, such as inhaled poisons, because he seems like the type of guy to run in and make sure everything is alright even if it's at his own expense. The robe for Amaya aids her senses because it lets her see in all directions and the dark, as well as invisible creatures and objects. The ring for Art will help protect him in general, and Zeivran knows why I gave him a bag of old gold." "Yes, I do," Zeivran confirmed. As if to prove a point, he grabbed one of the strips of metal from the small pouch and popped it into his mouth. The following crunch was an assault on Lunnzahn's ears.
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: "Zeivran," Calix addressed him, only sounding slightly surprised. He motioned for Eudoxia to grab supplies from one of the cabinets, lifting his glasses from where they hung around his neck to see better. "Looks like you had fun. What can we do for you?" "Something like that," Zeivran chuckled, closing the door behind him. Eudoxia practically skipped past him, her golden brown twin braids bouncing with her. "I fought a bunch of monsters and was pushed to come see you, but I feel fine despite… well, these." He motioned to his beaten body, to the wounds that tore through his clothes and littered his skin. "I caved 'cause I figured it would help save arcane energy for me and my team." "Fair enough." Calix pointed to the seat across from him and Zeivran sat without question. Eudoxia handed supplies to the doctor, mostly bandages apart from a bottle of saline and a bottle of shimmering bright green liquid, and he held out a hand to Zeivran. "May I?" "Sure thing, doc," Zeivran replied, getting comfortable in the chair. He would be here for a while. That was something Zeivran had always appreciated about Calix; outside of emergencies, he always made sure to ask for permission before touching someone. It made Zeivran feel comfortable with him. Other doctors hadn't been so nice or accommodating. Well, most other doctors…
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: Art began to scribble again. "Well, if we want to go with 'cartel', we should probably find a word to accompany it, so I'll just go over all of our loose words with it again," he offered, fixing the pages in front of him with a scrutinizing gaze. "Magic Cartel, Sorcery Cartel, Rune Cartel, Wayfinder Cartel, Star Cartel, Project Cartel, Lullaby Cartel—" "That one." Several of them spoke at once, stopping Art in his tracks, and he lifted his head to join the rest of them as they looked at each other. "The Lullaby Cartel," Lunnzahn repeated, liking the way it felt on his tongue. "That sounds cool." "It makes sense, too, because of Project Lullaby," Zeivran agreed, earning small nods in return. "We get to use the word cartel and also make a callback to what brought all of us together in the first place." "It's also not too damning," Amaya said, nearly bouncing up and down in her seat. "I mean, how many people even know about the project anyway?" "Even if they do, they'll know who they're up against," Cricket added. There was a rare, small smile on his face. "I think we're all in agreement, if Art also likes it?" All eyes turned to Art, who shrunk a bit under the attention. "Uh, yeah," he responded, sounding unsure. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Yeah, I think it's pretty cool. It sounds nice and has a hidden meaning to it that only people in the know will understand, so I'm okay with it. I like it." "We're the Lullaby Cartel now, then," Zeivran said, solidifying their choice, and the light excitement in the air was welcoming. "Looks like you're all stuck with me." Cricket shrugged. "No other weirdos I'd rather be stuck with." The comment earned him several "aws" that he proceeded to tune out, closing his eyes and relaxing in his seat as if he was going to sleep.
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: "Which leads us to where we are now, as you have probably guessed," Amaryllis said, finishing up an explanation. "She wants to fight us in the place where it all began, today at sundown, and we want to prevent starting a war. We need to end this back-and-forth with her. Do you have anything to help us?" The hidden figure let out a hum in thought, and it sounded like they walked away to grab something before walking back towards the goddess. "I'll be honest, I don't have much right now. If I had more time, I could offer better solutions, but the only thing I can recommend right now is a ritual to seal her away. It should put her to sleep forever, but… Well, I can't guarantee that because this ritual has only ever been performed on a less intelligent monster, once in the past. The only problem is that there's a catch." Amaryllis nodded along, leaning over the table to peer into a worn book that had been flipped open to a specific page and placed before her. "What sort of catch?" "Well… It requires a sacrifice," the figure responded, and Amaryllis' head shot up. "Yeah, exactly, and even more frustratingly, it requires a sacrifice that is close to the same level of power as whatever or whoever you're trying to seal away. The strings on our clothing can't hold back a boat, you know?" Amaryllis went silent as she looked back down at the book, and then she stood up straight, giving the figure a determined nod. "Thank you for everything," she said, her voice firm. "This is goodbye. If we need a sacrifice, then I will not allow an innocent soul to go to waste. It shall be me." She turned on her heel and walked towards the door, ignoring the figure as they desperately called after her.
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: "Is everyone alright?" Cricket called out from behind them. Lunnzahn turned around to see the dark-haired man walking towards them with Art not far behind him, and Amaya appeared from the treeline to run towards them. "No one is hurt?" Lunnzahn watched as Amaya and Art shook their heads before responding. "I got punched, but I'm okay," he said, the dull ache in his nose serving as a reminder. "I'm fine," Zeivran agreed, lifting up to wipe some of the blood from his face. "It's not my blood." Cricket's eyes fell to the sword in the man's hand. "It's not your sword either," he pointed out, and his gaze shifted to the body not far from Lunnzahn's feet before looking back to his ally. "Did you stab him with the sword that belonged to his leader?" Zeivran looked down at the body, to the sword in his hand, and then back to Cricket as a small grin pulled at his lips. "Yeah, I did do that. Pretty poetic, huh?" Cricket let out a small chuckle, "I was going to say pretty cool." "That works, too," Zeivran said with a shrug, tossing the sword into the scorched grass.
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: "For what it's worth," Sasha chimed in, giving Art a smile that was all too charming. "I thought all of you were excellent. You each had your place on the field, but more importantly, you had each other's backs. That's what carried you to victory." If Art's face was any pinker, Lunnzahn could have mistaken it for a flower. Luna cut through the tension with a low whistle. "Uplifting," she said. Whether she meant it or not was a question for another day. "You should be a motivational speaker." Sasha laughed, unbothered by her flatness. "I should be," he agreed, and then bumped his shoulder against Tirian's. "Maybe then, my baby brother would listen to me, hm?" "Oh, please," Tirian all but grumbled. "As if I could ever ignore your grating voice. The day you do not bother me in some way, shape, or form is the day both of us are dead." Sasha rested a hand on his chest, pretending to be hurt. "Come on, don't be like that. You love me." Tirian was quick to retort. "As much as I love a puddle of mud, perhaps." "Hey, you should feel honored that I'm around, drinking this terrible alcohol and making equally terrible small talk with the so-called 'best fighters in the land'." "I'm practically bursting with excitement." Lunnzahn had never heard Tirian use sarcasm until now. It was then that Zeivran got in between the frowning brothers, resting a hand on each of their arms. "Alright, alright," Zeivran said, a light laugh falling from his lips despite himself. "You can duel it out later, but right now, stay professional."
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: "I'm pretty sure I'm cursed," Amaya piped up, taking the heat off the Andilet siblings. Lunnzahn's ears twitched at this, and his eyes followed her hand as she held it out for all of them to see. He had noticed the small black mark before, but he had thought it was another odd birthmark of hers, mistakenly so. "This showed up after I died, or nearly died? The logistics are lost on me. I shook your mom's hand, Aba." "Oh, tell me you didn't," Aba groaned. Amaya gave an apologetic look and a halfhearted shrug, and Aba rolled his eyes almost dramatically. "Let me guess, something something, your life for a favor?" "Pretty much," Amaya confirmed. "That was stupid." "Yeah, I'm starting to realize that. Your turn!" "I mean, my secrets aren't really secrets anymore," Aba sighed, crossing his arms over his chest in mild annoyance. "My mother is the Queen of the Second Layer of the Hells and is hell to be around." Several people nodded solemnly in agreement. Lunnzahn was one of them. "And I'm a god, so what?" "So you're literally a deity," Sasha said, seeming taken aback by Aba's casual tone. "I'm also literally a Lady's bodyguard. I integrated into society like the rest of us," Aba reminded him. Then, he grinned. "I'm also incredibly strong and smart, not to mention unbearably good-looking—" "Okay, can it!" The lighthearted argument brought gentle laughter to the room, lifting their weary spirits.
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: "We're writing letters," Cricket responded, as if it was a regular activity to do while sitting in a hall. "Amaya and I got letters from our sisters. Amaya's sister is getting married but never mentioned a date, so we decided to write back. Lunnzahn joined us so he could write to his mother and Lord Calloway." Zeivran took a moment to process, and then rolled his eyes. "You're all nerds," he said, sitting down with them. He looked at Amaya. "Congratulations to your sister." Amaya smiled in return. "I asked her if you all could attend, too! I mean, we're traveling together, so I wouldn't want you being bored or anything while I'm there." There did not seem to be any bad reactions to this news and it made her smile more; she did not feel the need to force it anymore. She looked at Lunnzahn, who was reading over the letter he had just finished. "You okay, Lunn?" His head shot up and he nodded. "Just wondering what address I should send this to," he responded. "I'm gonna ask Aba to send the one to my mom, but do I just send this one to Akordia's castle?" "You could. Every castle has its own personal post office, so to say," Zeivran explained. "It's there to make sure Lords and Ladies can communicate seamlessly, and staff sort the mail according to necessity so everything is seen in order of importance." "Interesting," Cricket commented, and Zeivran shrugged halfheartedly. "I doubt a letter from a citizen is going to be considered a priority, though." He seemed to regret saying it when Lunnzahn deflated. "It wouldn't," Zeivran said, shrugging again. Then, he reached into his pocket to retrieve a ring, engraved with some kind of symbol. "But one with an honorary Lord's seal would." Lunnzahn immediately perked up again and Zeivran grinned back, offering the ring for him to press into one of the simple wax stickers.
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: The sound of the gong was startling, but Art still took off at full speed, not eager to be left in the dust. The first few chariots seemed to test the waters. People ran and mutually agreed to stay out of each other's way without a word, more focused on calculating how the small jumps felt and examining the slight movements of the chariots. It was quiet, uneventful. Then, like clockwork, the struggle began. Unfortunately, Art didn't get much of a chance to keep up with most of the contestants. There was movement to his right, and he only had enough time to throw up his arms before Hugo's leg slammed against them, sending him tumbling backwards. He flailed, ignoring the burning sensation that spread through his forearms, and managed to catch himself just a few feet before slipping through the section between two of the chariots. His heart skipped; those wheels would turn anyone's bones to dust. Alcinder's Mercy was a dangerous competition, but they always took caution to avoid fatalities. Had Hugo meant to kick him so far? The rules of the competition were loose, but Art was sure that killing each other was off the board.
A snippet of wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: The man seemed to wait until he knew Lunnzahn could see before he asked, "Are you alright?" Oh, Antaeus, strike me down. Lunnzahn couldn't help but think as the man's husky voice, beyond pleasant and practically dripping with honey, rattled around his skull. I'm screwed. "Yes," he barely managed to get out, pointing to his eyes as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Contacts." "Ah," came the understanding sound from the man. It was followed by a light chuckle as he walked forward to stand next to the catfolk. "I understand that on a personal level." "You wear contacts?" Lunnzahn asked before he could think, trying to ignore the giddy feeling in his chest as he turned around to lean against the railing like before. "Occasionally," the man responded, leaning against the railing as well. "I only need to wear my glasses when reading, so I put on contacts for important meetings. They can be rather bothersome at times." "Definitely," Lunnzahn agreed with a sigh.
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: "What happened to being scared, birdie?" Cricket wondered aloud, a smile pulling at his lips. Amaya laughed. "Can't be scared when I'm having fun, bug boy!" She called over her shoulder. Cricket couldn't help but think that if saving the world failed, hearing Amaya's joyful laughter still made this journey well worth it. He continued moving forward, his motivation now fueled by the girl who made it to the other side and began cheering him on, and when his feet hit solid ground again, he let out a sigh of relief. He turned around to see Zeivran and Art stepping up next, both of them far more unbalanced than he and Amaya had been, but he cupped his hands around his mouth and joined Amaya in cheering them on. Part of him expected Art to be the one who fell, out of all of them, so when Zeivran lost his footing and went crashing into the water, Cricket couldn't help the cackle that broke free from his chest. When Zeivran resurfaced, shaking his head to clear his vision, he could hear the man cursing him out as he swam back to the beginning. Zeivran climbed out of the water and pushed his hair from his face before stepping back onto the beam, looking like a wet dog. Lunnzahn hesitantly stepped onto the beam when Art reached the halfway point. Three steps in, the catfolk chose to get down on all fours and hug the beam, beginning to shuffle across instead of taking the risk of falling. By the time Lunnzahn had reached the halfway point, Art had reached the other side, and soon after, Zeivran planted his feet on the ground at the same time Lunnzahn crawled off the beam, dramatically kissing the ground. Art helped pull their friend to his feet as Amaya drew the sigil for transmutation in the air, casting a spell that dried Zeivran in an instant.
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: "They're late," Zeivran said. Cricket followed his gaze to the clock on the wall. "This thing is supposed to start at noon and it's now half past." "Why am I not surprised?" Cricket sighed. "Huge events like this never run on time." "I'll run on time to stick my foot up their—" The uncanny timing of the starting gong had the entire team laughing at Zeivran, who could only stay mad for a moment before laughing along with them. They gathered their senses and stood tall in front of the doors, listening intently as they readied themselves for the day ahead.
A snippet from wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: Like oil placed in a fire, his words brought the anger rushing back. "Get the fuck off of me!" Zeivran growled, the moment snapping as he shoved Aba away from him. Silence took its place between them once more. There, standing worlds apart in a castle once again as the raging fires reached waves of understanding, it was clear that nothing was going to change. Zeivran would always hate the gods for what they did and what they failed to do, and Aba was always going to be just that: a god. "I'm sorry," Aba sighed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Fuck, I really shouldn't have done that… I won't ever lay a hand on you again without your permission." His voice held the hint of a promise, and if there was one thing Zeivran could trust, it was that the promises they made had all been kept so far. He ignored the ache in his heart when he thought of never feeling Aba's touch ever again; it shouldn't have mattered. He watched as Aba struggled to speak further, opening his mouth only to close it again more than once, and for some reason, he waited to listen. Finally, Aba found the right words. "But I need you to know that ever since I first saw you, I have never been able to take my eyes off of you," he admitted. It was vulnerable. Vulnerable had never been Adonis' thing. Heat rushed back to Zeivran's face. Whether it was from anger or something he didn't want to name, he couldn't tell. "Don't tell me that, you dumbass," he threatened instead. "I'll gouge them out of your face." Aba didn't miss a beat. "And I'll still see you in the darkness that follows, Zeivran."
A snippet of wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: "I immediately sought out a solution," Henry continued, either not noticing the tension or not caring. "How could we stop the Twisted Majesty from reawakening and destroying the Realm as we know it? Amaryllis isn't here this time, so what could us mortals do?" "Keep her name out of your mouth!" Zeivran snapped. The words flew from his lips before he could think them through. White hot fury radiated through his body, hearing her name — not her title — being used to excuse some madman's egotistical project, but Henry met his gaze with no more than a smirk. "I believe this is a common mindset and a likely outcome after we were abandoned by our pantheon. Don't you agree, Lord Solomon-Strauss?" Henry asked, raising an eyebrow. There was something in the man's tone that only served to make Zeivran angrier. If it was not for the hands gripping his arm, he would have lunged, but they were a vehement reminder that he had much more to live for now. He had people who relied on him, who needed him to hold himself together and make it home to them. "You're out of your mind," Zeivran hissed through gritted teeth. "We are nothing alike." Henry shrugged and continued. "I stumbled upon the idea while reviewing some old experiments. After speaking with Ms. Talvaxon and an accomplice of hers, I decided to work towards that goal: to travel back in time and stop the Death of Creation from ever happening in the first place." Silence. Deafening silence, prompted by the maniacal idea of traveling through time like all who traversed the Wastelands were warned of, told to avoid the pockets left in the wake of a clash between two deities. Horrified silence, festering from the idea of changing history so drastically— of all the possible what ifs that accompanied it.
A snippet of wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: "Water," Cricket said, more of a statement than a demand or a request, and Zeivran understood. He immediately grabbed a cup from the table and filled it with water while Cricket guided Art to sit on a nearby chair, rubbing his back in slow circles. When Zeivran handed Art the cup, the younger boy took it with shaky hands and gave him a single, thankful nod. "Slow sips," Zeivran instructed, his tone dripping with concern. Art nodded once to show that he understood before beginning to drink, and Zeivran turned towards Cricket. "What happened?" "I wish I knew," Cricket responded genuinely. "We were talking with Antaeus and Zephyrus, and he was perfectly fine. I turned away for maybe a minute, and next thing I know, he's tugging on my sleeve and swaying." Zeivran clicked his tongue. "Damn," he murmured, reaching out a hand to touch Art's forehead, pushing some of his hair from his face. "Well, he hasn't turned into a heater or a waterfall yet, so that's good news." Cricket couldn't help but let out a soft laugh at his ally's odd way of speaking. The way his allies communicated could be unfortunate in certain circumstances, but he found it endearing. "What? Was it something I said? Hey— I'll squish you, Bug Boy!" "Go ahead and try," Cricket chuckled, not a hint of malice in his tone. Zeivran seemed to buffer for a moment, thinking about the response, and then turned away, crossing his arms with a light huff. A few minutes passed by in comfortable quiet, the two men sticking close to their ally who seemed to be slowly regaining color, and only when Art was finished his water did Cricket stop rubbing his back. "I'm feeling much better, thank you," Art said, looking between the two of them. "Both of you."
The two shared a sweet smile, and then the group's attention was pulled to a conversation near the bar, where Aba was leaning against the surface. They watched as Zephyrus approached him with a skip in his step, and the short man lifted himself onto the countertop. "Hey, Aba!" Zephyrus greeted him cheerfully, swinging his legs back and forth. "Do you know where Arius is? I've been meaning to talk to him about something, so I put it off until tonight since the event was set in stone and everything, but now he's not here." "You just missed him," Aba chuckled, and Zephyrus leaned his head back with a groan. "He was a few seconds ago, but he snuck out to go see that guy." "Oh, anger dissipated in a millisecond!" Zephyrus gasped, his head snapping back to Aba. "Details, as many as you have! Is it the mortal one, that hunk of a soldier?" Aba let out a hum as he nodded in confirmation, and Zephyrus fanned his face a little as he kicked his feet in excitement. "We raised him wrong, Zeph. He's so awful at lying," he said, and the two of them shared a laugh. Then, Aba added, "I hope he's happy. He deserves to have a bit of fun like the rest of us." "As if the rest of us are having fun," Zephyrus scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I haven't done anything fun in weeks, not until today!" He let out a resigned sigh, pouting ever so slightly. "Maybe I should find myself a mortal lover, just to spice things up a little…" "Just pretend to be mortal or something. Some people like guys like you," Aba advised, and when Zephyrus' head snapped his way in offense, the infernal man began to snicker. "What's that supposed to mean, you ass!?" Zephyrus demanded. However, before he could get a response, they were interrupted by laughter from the other side of the room, and they turned their heads to look at Miriam and Alcinder. They blinked, and then slowly turned back to each other. "… Well, at least Miri and Cinder don't ever have to worry about falling in love with a mortal."
A snippet of wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: Zeivran did not even finish his own sentence before stepping forward with the intent to fight. Most of the others around him shifted, seeming more than willing to start an all-out battle right then and there, but only one dared to grab his arm and stop him from starting something out of pure rage. "Zeivran, don't," Cricket said, more of a soft plea than a harsh demand. "Don't waste your energy and your wellbeing on someone like them. Not like this." Zeivran paused, listened, if only because he picked up on the underlying message reminding him— warning him of his curse. It brought the teams to a stand still, the entire arena unsure of what to do or what would happen, and a tense moment passed by as every soul held their breath in anticipation. Then, Jamie did his job and stepped in, cautiously standing between the teams with his hands out. "Let's all take a breath and step back," he suggested, his voice firm. "The rules state that teams are not allowed to attack each other outside of events and battles, or they will be disqualified. You'll have plenty of time to fight during the rest of the tournament, so… back off." Another tense moment passed, and then the teams took a step away from one another. However, Zeivran and Jasper did not move again, their eyes locked on one another. Zeivran wrenched his arm from Cricket's grip, his lips pulled into a scowl, and the entire arena seemed to hold its breath. "I don't care who you shitheads think you are," Zeivran snarled, his voice loud and clear for everyone. "You just made the biggest mistake of your lives." "And what would that be?" Jasper wondered, stoking the embers of the fire they had set. Zeivran paused— not a moment of hesitation, but one of consideration. The lingering presence behind him aided his decision of what to say. "You just made enemies out of me and my team."
A snippet of wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: "Hey guys!" Amaya greeted, her brown dress boots tapping a rapid rhythm. A nervous habit of hers. "Did you know this room is 53,000 square feet?" Lunnzahn and Cricket blinked. "Did you measure it?" Lunnzahn asked. Cricket snorted into his hand. "I wouldn't be here if I did, that'd take a while," Amaya answered with a light laugh. "No, I asked one of the staff— to get my mind off all the people! There's more than enough space for all of us." "That's good to know, Aya, " Cricket said, reaching behind Lunnzahn to grab something off the table. He picked up some sort of fruit tart from one of the dessert towers and passed it to Amaya. "Here, have a mini dessert. These work to get your mind off people, too, trust me." "That's fair." Amaya gratefully took it from him. "Hey, what if I just ate a whole tower of these?" Lunnzahn perked up. "Bet you can't eat one faster than me," he challenged, watching Amaya's face light up. This was their table now. Cricket pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, maybe don't do that…" Ignoring him, the two began stuffing their faces in hopes of distracting each other from the crowd, and it soon shifted from a competition to taste testing as they shared delicious desserts back and forth.
A snippet of wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: Defeated, he walked towards his friends, one foot in front of the other— "Lunnzahn!" Lunnzahn whirled around, ears perked up. He could barely register Tirian rushing towards him before he was encircled in the man's arms— and kissed for the first time. So earnestly he forgot about everything except Tirian. So deeply it almost hurt to pull apart, to be put back on solid ground, to know they had to be apart for at least a month. So lovingly he was not sure he would ever forget the feeling. "I love you," Tirian told him. Genuine and heartfelt, so quiet as if it was their secret to keep despite the friends and family surrounding them. "And I will see you soon." Lunnzahn found his voice. "I love you, too." The words were not foreign to him, but they had never been said in this way before. He could handle a month, he decided, if it meant hearing them again. "And I'll see you soon." At this, finally content with themselves, Lunnzahn and Tirian pulled apart, holding on tight until their fingers naturally slipped out of each other's grasp. Tirian was beaming. Lunnzahn was sure he was as well. This time, nothing remained but pure, unfiltered love as he climbed the stairs, stopping only to wait for the rest of his team. Cricket passed him with a pat on the back, Amaya with a gentle bump of their shoulders, Zeivran with a ruffle of his hair… and Art paused next to him, looking back.
A snippet of wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow.
A snippet of wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: "I don't have a choice," Alaric sighed heavily. The audience, it seemed, found this downright hilarious. "Welcome to what is technically day five of the Alcinder's Mercy Grand Tournament, our final day together with these hardworking teams. Each day, we have seen them strategize together but fight on their own, showcasing the lone skills of what might be only half of these participants. On this day, we make an effort to highlight the skills of all the participants and what truly matters on the battlefield." He took a breath. "You can certainly soar higher all by yourself, flap your wings and use others as stepping stones towards Myron, but you will never touch the stars that guide us without the aid of your teammates. The Death of Creation reminds us of this, in every moment that we breathe. You can write words on pages, draw pictures of faces… but you can never recreate that moment in time where you hold another's hand." The arena fell silent from the profound speech, holding a collective breath. It was only broken by Sebrina quietly whispering, "Damn, dude…" a little too close to her mic.
A snippet of wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: "Art!" A voice called out to him. He barely had enough time to turn around before he was wrapped into two pairs of arms, fighting for his breath around Amaya's shirt and Lunnzahn's fur. Then, Cricket's hand was on his head, fingers brushing through his sweat-soaked curls without a care for getting his hand dirty. A moment later, Zeivran's hands were cradling his face and his eyes were shining with worry, his nervous expression pulling at the star-shaped freckles that decorated his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Art briefly wondered if those had always been there, but then he realized that Zeivran was meeting his gaze again. "Are you okay?" Zeivran asked with barely disguised panic. "Are you hurt?" "I—" Art started, his voice breaking as he choked on nothing but air and endearment. "I'm okay, yeah, I'm just super tired… a little sore and winded, honestly, but not hurt, no." "I can spare a spell if you need," Amaya offered. She and Lunnzahn pulled back at the same time, but neither went far, as if they were scared that Art would somehow disappear the second they let go. "Really, I don't mind! Hugo totally almost killed you!" Art let out a laugh, all breath and very little sound. "Yeah, that really sucked… but I'm okay, I promise. I just need some rest," he reassured them. "But because of Hugo, I only got two points… I'm—" "Two points is incredible," Zeivran interrupted him, fingers gripping his skin with gentle desperation. "You did good, Art."
A snippet of wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: "What do you think tomorrow's event will be?" Art asked, closing his journal as he finished writing something down. "Or the battles? They don't really give us much to theorize with." "Isn't that the point? To keep the playing field fair, we're not supposed to know or even have an idea," Lunnzahn chimed in. Then, he shrugged. "Hugo Whitlock from the Jade Stars made a scene during the event, so maybe he'll be chosen for one of the battles. Then again, you and Iris also had the spotlight…" Art grew nervous at the idea. "I hope I'm not picked for any battles. Combat isn't my thing, especially not solo combat, and I'd hate to face Hugo or Iris— or anyone, really." "You think they'll make Hugo and Iris fight each other?" Zeivran wondered. Art whined in protest. "Hey! Don't whine at me like a sad puppy, I'm literally answering your question." "Stop thinking about it!" "Then stop asking questions!"
A snippet of wheelofate's work in progress novel, The Seeds We Sow. It reads as follows: "And long live Lor'vana, the Twisted Majesty!" Before they could react, Sisko lunged forward and cut through the space, splitting the group; Zeivran, Cricket and Art ended up on one side of the treasury, and Lunnzahn and Amaya ended up on the other. The man locked onto the small stature of the catfolk — or more accurately, the artifact he was holding — but before he could move towards him, Amaya caught his attention by whispering a small incantation and summoning a green cube of light that proceeded to surround him, leaving him soaked in that same glowing green hue. With Sisko distracted, Art took the chance to whisper his own incantation and waved his hands through the air to draw a vague symbol of enchantment, small bursts of magic forming around each of his allies. When he was finished, Zeivran felt that same wave of warm and gentle magic roll over him, but this time, he was left with the lingering scent of frankincense. Cricket dashed away from his side, haphazardly grabbing a rusted metal sword off the wall that was likely only kept for display, but it would have to do. Zeivran could assume that it was enough for now as he watched his ally rush towards Sisko, bringing the weapon down and slamming the still-sheathed sword into the man's side. Alright, fuck it, let's get this over with, Zeivran thought, disregarding his worries about how much noise they were creating.
A moodboard with nine pictures. The top three pictures depict a set of white wings, two hands reaching for one another, and a leather bag on the ground that has spilled rolled up scrolls. The bottom three pictures depict hands summoning starry magic, a close up of a bright blue eye, and a close up of a faceless figure wearing a white shirt and brown goggles. The middle three pictures depict two quotes on either side of a picrew of a young man with brown hair sporting a white bang/streak in the front and bright blue eyes, wearing an earring with a gem the same color as his eyes and a purple cardigan over a white dress shirt, which is in turn over a black turtleneck. The quote on the left reads, "Looking half a corpse and half a god," and the quote on the right reads, "It's okay. You just forgot who you are. Welcome back." Art is by maetheellen via Picrew.
A moodboard with nine pictures. The top three pictures depict a hand holding a burning bundle of flowers, a belt chain made out of beads and shells and strings and such, and a bow with the string drawn and an arrow aimed to fly. The bottom three pictures depict a blue, brown, and white medieval outfit with a black belt holding small potion bottles, a wooen bridge surrounded by patches of beautiful flowers, and a faceless figure with silver hair styled in a bob on the longer side. The middle three pictures depict two quotes on either side of a picrew of a young girl with blue eyes and silver hair in a ponytail with a small braid and red ribbon in it, wearing a blue vest over a white dress shirt, black socks with black garters, and black fishnet gloves and posing with a peace sign and a grin. The quote on the left reads, "When it's dark, look for stars," and the quote on the right reads, "Underestimate me. That'll be fun." Art is by ri_osa_mu via Picrew.
A moodboard with nine pictures. The top three pictures depict a faceless figure with long black hair, a hand summoning fire, and a close up of a purple eye. The bottom three pictures depict an all-black rogue-like outfit, a pair of hands using lockpicks to pick a lock of some kind, and a hand casting bright purple magic. The middle three pictures depict two quotes on either side of an art piece of a young man with long black hair in an all-black outfit, save for his brown belt of pouches and the green lining of his turtleneck, who appears to be sweating out of exasperation. The quote on the left reads, "I'm not very good at telling people how I feel," and the quote on the right reads, "Fight because you don't know how to die quietly." The art piece was commissioned for me by a friend. Unfortunately, I never got the name of the artist because I was young and stupid.
A moodboard with nine pictures. The top three pictures depict a faceless figure in semi-formal clothing, a faceless figure in a poet's shirt and medieval pants reading a book, and a close up of an albino golden eye. The bottom three pictures depict a faceless figure in a fancy shirt with a heavy coat, art of a faceless figure in more fanciful white clothing with orange and yellow sun-like themes, and art of a faceless void-like figure reaching their hands out to hold a ball of light. The middle three pictures depict two quotes on either side of an art piece of an albino elven man with star-shaped freckles, off-white hair, golden eyes, gold-tipped ears, and a strange gold and purple marking on his neck, wearing a poet's shirt and black gloves. The quote on the left reads, "When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it," and the quote on the right reads, "Are you there god? It's me, your bastard child."
A moodboard with nine pictures. The top three pictures depict a dusty stack of leather books surrounded by dried bundles of flowers and glass bottles, a faceless figure in dark academia clothing and with a novel in their hand behind two lit candles, and an open spellbook in front of a small standing mirror surrounded by lit candles. The bottom three pictures depict a black cat sleeping on a white blanket next to a crystal ball and three tarot cards, a faceless figure in a poet's shirt, and a black cat in a grassy field behind a patch of wildflowers. The middle three pictures depict two quotes on either side of an art piece of a cat-like figure with brown fur and tan skin with a scar on his left cheek, wearing glasses over green eyes and a green cloak over a white dress shirt. The quote on the left reads, "I don't really know why I'm still here," and the quote on the right reads, "Please don't forget me and all the things we did. Please."
A moodboard with thirteen pictures. The five pictures on the left, from top to bottom, depict a withering rose bush, a faceless figure holding chains, faceless swordsmen fighting on a battlefield, a faceless figure in simple clothing summoning fire from their hand, and a faceless figure reading letters. The five pictures on the right depict bloodied hands, a hand summoning starry magic, a battlemap, a king's crown, and lavender in the setting sun with a faded building in the background. The three pictures in the middle column depict an overgrown indoor garden, five hands clinking cups together with a fireplace in the background, and a deer wandering through the forest at sundown.
A moodboard with nine pictures. The top three pictures are of a foggy cabin in the woods, at least three pairs of hands piled on top of and holding each other, and leather pouch that is spilling gold coins. The middle three pictures are of empty church pews with sunlight spilling through a window in the middle of them, a fantastical map created for a game of Dungeons & Dragons, and a burning church with several faceless figures standing outside in black and white. The bottom three pictures are of faceless swordsmen fighting on a battlefield in black and white, two formless people holding hands in the grass over a patch of daisies, and the vast view from atop a medieval castle with a patch of overgrown ivy and two watchful crows.
A book cover. It is green with golden edges and golden sprigs of lavender behind the title: "The Seeds We Sow." Above the title, it says: "Book One of The Seeds We Sow Series." Below the title, it says: "Five adventurers, one missions, millions of lives at stake..." followed by the author's name, T.R. Wicasa.
A moodboard with nine pictures. Six border the middle, three on each side, of a starry sky, which is also in the middle and has writing on it: "The Seeds We Sow." The three top pictures are of a foggy oceanside castle with a sailboat on the water, a beautifully lit forest, and a lovely garden path surrounded by flowers leading towards a different castle n the daytime. The bottom three pictures are of a withered tree in the desert at sunset, a large faraway castle seemingly at dusk, and a field of lavender with several trees at sunset.