Novels by Futopia

The dawn painted Bremen in a deceptive glow, casting the grim city in an almost serene light. It was the kind of light that softened edges, that could trick a weary heart into thinking peace was possible, even for just a heartbeat. Yet, for Millie, that glow felt like a lie, a false tranquility that set her nerves on edge, sharpened by years of constant vigilance and endless conflict. Her fingers grazed the rough edge of the dagger sheathed at her side as she recalled Tess’s wide, frightened eyes, haunted by something she hadn’t yet learned to voice.Was it merely a child's nightmare? Or had Tess, with her innocent, curious ways, stumbled upon something she shouldn’t have? Had she unwittingly witnessed a thread of betrayal woven into the very fabric of their desperate fight for survival? Millie could still hear the murmur of Tess’s voice, the tremble of fear she’d tried to hide as she recounted a strange, whispered meeting, a chilling voice in the dark, and the ominous mention of Brem

Bremen, though scarred by war and burdened with loss, had an air of deceptive normalcy. The rhythm of everyday life pulsed through its heart, filling afternoons with the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer as he pounded out makeshift weapons and tools. Around the firepits, the aroma of bread and roasted roots lingered, accompanied by quiet chatter and the rare, timid laughter of children reclaiming slivers of childhood. Yet, beneath this thin veil of routine, an unspoken tension simmered—a coiled readiness, an awareness of the storm that was always just beyond the horizon.Peter and Millie moved through this fragile peace like shadows, bound together by circumstance, shared burdens, and an unspoken bond that neither could entirely put into words. By day, they were strategists, calculating and calm, leading through subtle cues and unspoken plans. Each glance, each nod or frown, was dissected by those around them for any signs of weakness or dissent, the people of Brem

Their entrance into Bremen was no grand procession, no joyous homecoming of a conquering hero. The streets felt heavy, as if each cobblestone braced itself against the weight of the journey Millie, Peter, and the children carried with them. A few townsfolk gathered, watching with eyes that held equal parts awe and fear. Recognition flickered across their faces, spreading quickly through the crowd.Whispers rose in a wave, carried by the breeze and repeated as if testing the truth of it. “The Wolf Slayer… is she our doom or savior?” … “Brings war to our doorstep…” … “Those children… more orphans for our dwindling stores…”The words washed over Millie, each comment a pinprick against her armor. She kept her head high, but the doubt clawed at her resolve. Were they simply bringing ruin? These people had their own lives, their own struggles, and here she was, arriving with a bloody reputation and a band of children who had already seen far too much of war.Yet, beneath the voices laced wi

Bremen loomed ahead, its high walls and watchtowers stark against the dimming sky. To Millie, it looked more like a fortress than the humble refuge she’d once known. The hastily reinforced walls seemed to carry the weight of desperation and distrust, an imposing reminder that Bremen was now bracing for war.Beside her, Peter padded, his eyes fixed on the gates. Millie could feel the tension between them, the silent anticipation before a performance. He had suggested a simple plan: approach with a story of exile and pleading for sanctuary. Behind them, concealed in the tall grass, the children waited, a hidden line of defense should things go wrong.Peter called out, his voice laced with a careful note of desperation. “We come with news of the Witch’s army, and of a kingdom fallen. We’re refugees, looking for safety.”Millie remained a step behind; her face shadowed as she scanned the guards lining the watchtower. She knew all too well that Bremen’s new guardians could just as quickly

The forest was thick with the stench of death, an invisible shroud that clung to Millie’s skin and burned her nose. She moved with heightened urgency, every sound sharpening her senses, every shift of light drawing her eyes to the shadows. Her breaths came shallow and measured, each one a reminder of the bloodshed they’d just left behind.Behind her, Peter followed silently, his eyes darting between the trees, scanning for signs of pursuit. He knew as well as she did that they were leaving a trail that could quickly turn into their undoing. The children trudged ahead of them, silent and pale, the harsh reality of their first battle still weighing on their faces.As the group moved further from the scene of violence, Millie glanced at Peter and rasped, “Those bodies will draw attention soon enough.” She kept her voice low, wary of alarming the children. “The Witch’s hunters, or worse, those bounty men from the Red District. We need to put as much distance between us and that… mess.”Pe

Dawn broke over the forest, casting a sickly gold light that seeped through the trees and painted the leaves in eerie shades. To Millie, the color felt like a mockery, as though the sun was teasing them with a beauty that belied the lurking danger. She tiptoed, eyes scanning every shadow, ears tuned to every sound. Something was wrong. The forest's usual rhythm—its subtle whispers and sighs—was replaced by a heavier, almost sinister silence.A faint, unnatural sound reached her: the scrape of a boot on stone, then the sharp snap of a twig underfoot. Millie halted, signaling to the children with a quick, clenched fist. They froze, eyes wide, clutching their makeshift weapons with trembling hands.After becoming a decoy, Peter finally joined them, caught the signal, and stilled. His hand went to his flute, but this wasn’t a moment for magic or melody. His eyes met Millie’s, and in that split second, they knew—they were no longer alone—different soldiers or wardens of the forest.Two figu

The quiet of the evening settled over the Moreau estate like a shroud, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves outside and the distant calls of crows perched in the withering trees. Elijah sat in his dimly lit study, a single candle casting long, flickering shadows over the room. Before him lay Matthias’s old journal, its leather cover worn and cracked with age, the spine creased from years of use.Elijah had kept it locked away, an heirloom—a reminder of the man who had taught him everything he knew about the shadows that lurked beyond the edges of Raven’s Hollow. But tonight, with the Bloodseekers’ threat escalating, he felt a pull he couldn’t resist, a sense that somewhere within these pages lay answers he desperately needed.He took a deep breath, his fingers brushing over the cover as memories surfaced—images of Matthias guiding him through countless lessons, his voice calm yet unyielding, warning him of the dangers that existed just out of sight. Elijah had always admired Matt

The morning light was bleak, filtered through thick clouds that hung low over the Moreau estate. The fog clung to the ground, swirling in eerie, silent waves that gave the landscape a ghostly appearance. Elijah stood by the window in the main hall, his gaze fixed on the mist-shrouded grounds. The night had passed in restless silence, filled with a heavy, unyielding tension that made every shadow feel alive.The sound of hurried footsteps broke the quiet, and he turned to see Julien rushing down the hallway, his face pale, his eyes wide with something close to panic. Elijah tensed, his grip tightening on his staff as he moved toward Julien, who halted abruptly, his breath coming in short gasps.“It’s… it’s Uncle Claude,” Julien stammered, his voice barely more than a whisper. “We… we found him… in the garden.”A cold dread settled over Elijah, but he forced himself to keep his voice steady. “What happened to him?”Julien swallowed, his gaze flickering away, his hands trembling as he ge

A scream shattered the stillness of the early morning, echoing through the halls of the Moreau mansion and piercing through the fog-draped grounds. Elijah’s eyes snapped open, his heart pounding as he rose from the narrow cot in his quarters, every sense immediately on high alert. He knew that scream—that raw, terrified sound that marked the edge between life and something far darker.He grabbed his staff and dashed out into the hallway, his bare feet slapping against the cold wooden floor. Shadows clung to the corners, stretching and shifting as he moved, as if mocking his efforts, taunting him with their presence. Another scream echoed, this one shorter, choked off abruptly, sending a chill down his spine. It was coming from the upper wing, where the Moreau family’s bedrooms were located.As he reached the staircase, he saw Vivienne Moreau, her face ashen, standing at the foot of the stairs. She clutched her robe around her tightly, her eyes wide with horror as she looked up toward

The fog lingered over the Moreau estate like a thick, suffocating shroud, creeping over the gardens, casting everything into a shadowed haze. Elijah stood near the entrance, his staff held tightly in his hand, his gaze locked on the faint movement at the edge of the property. The Bloodseekers were out there, their dark forms slithering just beyond the lights, waiting for their chance to breach the estate, to sink their claws into the fear that hung so heavily in the air.He took a deep breath, feeling the bitter chill settle in his chest. The thought of protecting the Moreaus now, after everything that had happened, tasted sour. But there was a voice in the back of his mind—a familiar, steady voice that whispered with the cadence of Matthias, reminding him of the promise he’d made, not just to protect the family but to uphold a duty to the town itself. He couldn’t abandon that, no matter how much bitterness coiled in his heart.As he tightened his grip on the staff, a door creaked ope

Elijah awoke with a start, the early morning light casting a gray pallor over his room. He sat up slowly, his pulse quickening as he felt an unnatural chill settle over the mansion. It was the kind of cold that seeped beneath the skin, burrowing deep, refusing to let go. He had slept fitfully, the broken bond haunting his dreams, the presence of the Bloodseekers lingering just beyond his consciousness, waiting.As he rose and crossed to the window, he noticed shadows clinging to the edges of the glass, shifting and dark, as though something were pressing against the other side, trying to seep into the walls. Elijah’s grip tightened on the windowsill, his jaw clenching as he stared out into the fog-laden morning. The Moreaus’ estate felt exposed, vulnerable, like a house left open to wolves.A knock sounded at the door, and he turned to find Lina standing there, her face pale, her eyes wide with an uncharacteristic fear. For a moment, he felt the stirrings of old compassion, a brief me

The air was unnaturally still, pressing down like a weight over the Moreau estate, heavy and charged with an unspoken threat. Elijah stood on the front steps, staring into the darkness that stretched beyond the gravel drive, his senses sharpened, attuned to every shift in the air, every shadow that moved at the edge of his vision. The night had fallen fast and thick, a blanket of dark clouds blotting out the stars, casting the estate into a deep, oppressive blackness.He tightened his grip on his staff, his fingers cold against the worn wood. The wards, the protective spells he had spent years reinforcing, were gone. With a simple stroke of his pen on the divorce papers, he had severed the bond that shielded the Moreaus, leaving them exposed to the very things he had been sworn to keep at bay.A faint rustling sound caught his attention—a flash of movement just beyond the treeline. He narrowed his eyes, every nerve in his body on edge, feeling the familiar tension he had learned to li