Novels by Ye Above Story

Caster sat at his workbench, staring at the mess in front of him. Tools were scattered everywhere, papers and sketches covered the surface, and there were notes scribbled in every corner. It all felt overwhelming. His fingers tapped the wood of the table, a soft rhythm that couldn’t drown out the restlessness gnawing at him.There was so much he had to do. So many ideas, so many things he wanted to build. But where to start? His mind was a storm of thoughts, and none of them seemed to stick long enough to make sense.He muttered to himself, almost as if trying to remind himself why he was still here. "If I’m going to stay in this city, I might as well make the most of it," he said quietly, his voice raspy with exhaustion. "Maybe I’ll find something here. Something worth the effort."Caster shifted his gaze toward the window. Down below, the street was alive with people, carts rolling by, voices shouting, children playing. The city pulsed with energy. But it was the construction site

“It is okay Wayland, do you have any further issues you wish to discuss before venturing head into the project?” Caster questioned, calmness lining his tone remarkably despite the nervous tapping of his fingers on the workbench. There was still some haze and the smell of the lightly coloured sawdust and the sharper than apple smell of oiled metal. The foreman mulled it over for a few moments, digging the jagged claws of his sweat-streaked hands through the coarse beard on his coppery face. His eyes moved on the workers who preparing some equipment around them and their voices were just ringing low as communication only. “Well, I do not know that directly without a second thought,” was his response but there was a brief moment of a shadow crossing his eyes to tell a different story. “However, do not hesitate to let me know if you have any ideas in your mind when the proceeding starts.” Caster hesitated, his thoughts swirling. His workshop had always been a sanctuary—a place where

Caster was mature enough to see the world as it was. He understood that most younger folk saw it through a lens of hope and ambition, their dreams of treasure and fame setting them apart from his more grounded approach. Some were from humble beginnings: sons and daughters of farmers; young people from families that were better off but that had fallen on hard times and now were boy or girl determined to claw back some of that perceived lost respect, no matter the price."My jaw twisted into a small smirk as I imagined their wide eyes and wide, baseless plans and all they think is, ‘Get some gold, a shiny sword, you’ll be a hero.’" It was the same story, time and again: things that were often only dreams, rarely aligning with reality.Lowfield had been a deliberate choice despite what she had become. Knowing full well it wouldn’t be clear, he took the fast route but he took the fast route. The road taught him about its steep hills, its rocky passages and on occasion, the unfriendly tra

The early morning breeze bit into the cloak and the underdress at Caster’s shoulders as he walked the narrow cobblestone path into Lowfield. Today he had gotten rid of his imposing helmet and heavy armor. Dawn's fresh smell of its own earth together mingling with the familiar taste of his workshop on his clothes. He wasn’t hiding his identity, or painful silence had been left behind, today. Today was about remembering the life that kept breathing after his magesmith-tools stopped.The caravan had added liveliness to the town which reminded me of festival time, the town was waking up. Some of the faces settling onboard Caster recognised—newcomers amongst the adventurers. With fresh ambitions and none of the resolve yet tested, they walked on their own journey wide eyed and reminded him of the person he used to be. He watched the newcomers with a kind of quiet amusement, catching snippets of eager chatter about dungeons and imagined battles, bravado thick in the air.A young man, prob

Casting his small treaty of provisions, a load of stale bread crusts, some wrinkled fruits, and a hard wedge of cheese that once lived on a more hospitable broke surviving clunk to clunk. He made a gagging noise as he peered at the dried meat again and poked it with distaste. "Wouldn't it kill the fates to give me a real meal?" Just once. Something hot, even." He sneaked a look over at where a stove should be, the ones that made his mouth water when a hearty stew bubbled away. For a moment he smirked, "No stove yet … maybe I could conjure a magical pan up." "Oil might be asking for a miracle."Peering out the window he squinted at the city in the early light. Carts creaked along cobbled paths and vendors hawked fresh fish and newly baked bread in the place I had walked into, even now. He’d done a lot with the house in the week that he’d been there, turning it into something livable, barely. "What the hell?' he murmured, 'Doors actually close now' he concluded feeling a bit more proud

Caster adjusted his grip and took a close look at his work, scrutinizing every line and angle of the newly crafted weapon handle. The wood was tough but carefully sanded, bearing faint, meticulous patterns he had engraved over hours of work. "Alright," he muttered, almost to himself. "Let's see if this holds up."He lowered his gaze to the small, rough-edged mana stone beside him. Its surface shimmered faintly, a testament to the raw energy that pulsed within it. With precision, he made a tiny opening at the base of the handle, using one of his tools to keep the gap just wide enough for the stone to fit snugly. Holding his breath, Caster slid the stone into place, his hand steady even as he felt the twinge of nervousness in his gut. One wrong move, one crack, and the handle would split, and the entire effort would be wasted. He exhaled, the pressure off his shoulders as the stone was secure. He picked up a little hammer and taps the opening closed, sealing the stone.Caster was co