Incoreus

So I’ve been a little MIA. Okay… more than a little.

Don’t ask me why, but one evening I randomly logged back into Tumblr and started scrolling through my old blog, and suddenly all the emotions hit at once. My goodness.

This place holds so many versions of me. Old fandoms, late-night thoughts, rants, original characters, half-finished stories, and that familiar spark that used to pull me back to writing again and again. Seeing it all reminded me how much this space once meant to me, and how much I’ve missed creating simply for the sake of it.

I’ve also started writing again this year, slowly letting my creative side breathe after keeping it tucked away for far too long. Somewhere in that process, it felt right to come back here too. To pick up where I left off, and to keep building, imagining, and sharing again.

This blog is shifting toward original fantasy: worldbuilding, characters, fragments of stories, and the quiet in-between moments. But it’s still me. Fandom will show up now and then. Old habits die hard.

No big launch. No promises about perfection. Just a decision to let the stories out and see where they lead.

If you’ve been here before, welcome back. If you’re new, I’m really glad you found your way here.

Damn. This matters ... and I'm way too excited about it.

#writerslife

—

Seris smiled to herself and shifted position, deliberately stepping into his path. He stopped before they collided. That, too, told her something.

“Careful,” she said lightly. “You walk like someone who expects the ground to betray him.”

His eyes, green, sharp, unamused, met hers without surprise. “And you stand like someone hoping it will.”

She laughed, genuine and unbothered. “I’ve never been fond of dull ground.”

“Being seen isn’t always freedom,” Roan replied quietly.

Seris tilted her head, studying him openly now. “Is that criticism, or advice?”

“Depends,” he said. “How attached are you to breathing?”

She liked him immediately.

—

So you write their death scene and now you’re staring at the screen through tears like …

Yep. I did this to myself. T_T

“In Elyria,” Mariva said, as if remembering aloud, “they believe the Maker listens most closely when no one is speaking.”

Talor did not look at her at once. Instead, he stared into the embers. He had heard her speak of the Maker before, always like this, as though it were something remembered rather than taught.

He frowned. “What does He listen for?”

Mariva’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. “For what we carry when there is nothing left to say.”

She reached into her cloak and pressed something small into his palm. A smooth stone, worn by water rather than force. Etched into its surface was a simple mark, a single line with a shallow arc rising from it, like the first hint of dawn.

“The dark comes with the night,” she said quietly, “but the night does not last.”

Talor closed his fingers around the stone. It was still warm, as if it had been carried for a long time. He did not understand her words. Not fully.

But for the first time since his mother’s death, the hollow inside him did not ache quite so sharply.

—

An excerpt from Tales of Elyria: Before the Broken Crown

If you’d like to explore more of Elyria and the stories that shape it, you can Find me on Wattpad, where I’m sharing this world piece by piece.

The boy stopped short when he realized he had been noticed.

No, not a boy.

He was younger than her, seventeen at most, with dark hair that refused to lie flat no matter how often it was pushed back. A pack sat too high on his shoulders, straps pulled tight as if he were trying to make himself seem broader than he was. His boots were worn but well cared for. A short blade hung at his side, serviceable and new, the leather still stiff.

He straightened immediately.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to startle you."

He stood like someone trying very hard to look older than he felt.

"Where are you headed?" Ilia asked.

"Elyndar," he said at once. "The capital."

Something bright flickered behind his eyes when he said it.

"To swear an oath," he added. "I want to serve Elyria."

—

Being a writer is randomly looking up things like “How long can someone survive a knife wound to the abdomen?” or “Can you shoot someone with an arrow through the back and hit the heart?”