روايات بقلم MM de Wet

“I have sailed these waters my whole life,” Amr said, jaw tightening. “She will handle whatever you throw at her. The question is whether you can handle the mission.” He gestured toward the cabin. “We have supplies, we have a crew that knows how to keep their mouths shut, and we have a destination,” Mar said, his voice cutting through the morning fog. “But I do not care about your reputation or what you have done for Escuro. on this deck, you follow my lead. Understand?”Luz inclined his head once– a sharp, economical movement. “I am not here to lead.” “Then you will fit right in,” Mar grunted. He turned to Emile, who had been watching Luz from the railing with wide, unblinking eyes. “Emile, get below. You need to eat something before we head out.” Emile did not move immediately. She looked at Luz, then at Amelia, her brow furrowed. “The golden reflection is bleeding,” she wh

Escuridade turned drying her hands on a rag. “Choose wisely when Mar asks where you want to drop anchor. He will give you one shot at it.” Luz glanced at Amelia, the back to Escuridade. “And what is waiting for us at those ruins? Beyond whatever Mestre Escuro expects us to find?” Escuridade’s purple eyes met his– steady, unreadable. “Nothing that wants to be found, commander.” She cleared her throat. “There is a girl with Mar, his daughter Emile. She seems to have the gift of foresight. Head her words carefully.” Luz’s hand stilled on the hilt of his sword. “Foresight,” he echoed, his word tasting like ash. he had seen enough of the future to know it was rarely kind.Escuridade nodded once. “Emile, she sees things. Shadows before they fall. Words before they are spoken.” She paused, her gaze sharpening. “She will likely see you, Luz not as you appear, but as you are.” A heavy

Luz’s fingers comb through the thin ash-silver strands, pulling it smoothly away from his eyes and cheeks. He pauses briefly as he collects all of the hair at the back of his head, using one hand to hold the gathered length while the other smooths downs tray strands along his temples and crown. Then he twisted the gathered ash-silver hair several times, folding it back against itself to form a compact man bun high at the back of his head. With one hand holding the bun in place, her wraps a dark leather tie around it several times, pulling it firmly until the bun is severe. A few shorted ash-silver strands remain loose around his face. he brushed one stray lock behind his ear before lowering his hands.Luz reached for the chain mail shirt, lifting the heavy mesh garment with both hands and pulling it over his head. The chainmail settled heavily across his shoulders and chest. “Mar’s ship will not wait forever,” he said as he reached for the bronze breas

Escuridade held out robes and a cloak in different shades of brown to Luz. “This is for her to wear,” she said placing the clothes on a wardrobe. “I will leave it to you to wake her.” Escuridade turned and left the room. Luz watched her leave, the heavy door clicking shut behind her. The silence that followed was abrupt, the room feeling smaller and colder without her presence. He turned to the wardrobe, picking up the clothes she had left for Amelia. They were simple, practical fabric– not the fine linens of a noble, but warm and sturdy. He sat back down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Amelia was still asleep, her breathing shallow and even, one arm draped across the space where he had been lying only moment before.Luz reached out, his fingers hovering just above Amelia’s shoulder before finally settling there. He shook her gently. “Amelia,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, stripped of it

“Salvaxe, if you are coming with us, then get some rest. We will need all hands-on deck tomorrow.” Mar turned to Emile, his expressions softening despite himself. “I am not,” Salvaxe said, causing a frown to form above Emile’s eyes. “I am staying behind to free the other prisoners and get them on their feet.” Mar’s brows shot up. He looked at the younger man, then at the darkened expression on his daughter’s face. “You are staying behind to play liberator?” Mar asked, his voice sceptical. “In a city that was sacked less than twelve hours ago? that sounds like a suicide mission, kid.” Emile’s frown deepened. She stepped closer to Salvaxe, her fingers tightening on his sleeve.“He has to,” Emile said quietly, her amber eyes fixed on Salvaxe. “There are others like us. People who do not have Escuro’s army to protect them.” Mar watched them, the tension in his own sho

Escuro did not flinch. He met Mar’s gaze with the same unnerving calm he had possessed years ago. “You do not need to trust me,” Escuro said finally standing. “Trust Luz. When I stood at the ruins of the grand city of Dourado, he offered himself up to safe those that remained. He does not fight for me. He fights for others. For freedom from the Santo Order and from me. He is the hero.” Mar’s expression flickered. “A man who fights against you while working for you,” Mar mused, his voice low. “That sounds like a man with a very sharp blade and an even sharper mind.” He looked at Emile, who remained standing near Escuro, her gaze distant as if she were watching something far beyond the tavern walls.Emile seemed tethered to Escuro now, in a way he could not understand. “If this Luz is real,” Mar said, turning back to Escuro. “And if he can do what you are asking– destroy the fountain, end this c

After eating the perfect pancakes, Marius and Tera got dressed for work. Half an hour later they both stood in Tera’s living room. Marius was wearing a smart, sophisticated formal-casual ensemble centred around a deep burgundy waistcoat with a subtle, smooth finish. The waistcoat has a classic V-shaped neckline, a straight front and four black buttons running down the centre. There are two horizontal welt-style pockets near the lower front, with another subtle chest pocket on the upper right side. Underneath is a black long-sleeved dress shirt that has a traditional collar and fitted sleeves, with black cuffs buttoned neatly around his waist. He is wearing a black necktie decorated with a small white and grey geometric patterns that consists of tiny squares and rectangular shapes scattered across the tie, which is tucked neatly beneath the waistcoat’s V-neck. His trousers are solid black, matching the shirt and appear tailored and relatively slim, continuing the sleep ap

Harper closes Oliver’s office door behind her. “I might have given him some tips,” she said softly. “Why?” Oliver’s icy blue eyes narrow slightly as she closes the door. The sound of the latch clicking shut feels like a permission slip to drop the professional act, just for a moment. “Why?” he repeats, his voice dropping an octave. He steps away from the mahogany desk, closing the distance between them in two measure strides. “Because he mentioned you two were celebrating tonight night. Because he mentioned you were ‘very productive’.” He stops just inches from her, close enough that she can see the tension in his jaw, the dark flicker of possessiveness in his icy blue eyes that he usually keeps under lock and key.“He was smirking, Harper. Smirking like he knew something I did not.” Oliver’s hand reaches out, not to touch her face this time, but to land on the surface of his office door

Oliver swipes to the second drawing. “The lighting in the second draft is washed out. fix it.” Knox does not miss the deflection. He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, a smug grin spreading across his face. “You are dodgin’, Williams. That’s a verra unproductive way tae handle a direct question.” Knox taps his fingers against his chin, studying Oliver’s composed face with predatory amusement. “I am not dodging anything,” Oliver says, his voice dropping into that dangerous low register he uses when he is losing patience. “I am managing a meeting. Something you seem to be struggling with.” Knox raises his hands in mock surrender, but the grin does not fade. “Right, right. Managing. Very professional o’ ye.” He leans in closer, lowering his voice just enough to make the conversation feel illicit in the open office. “Ye ken, for someone so obsessed wi’ control, ye’re actin&rs

Oliver leans back in his chair, tapping his pen against the edge of his mahogany desk in a rhythmic measured way. His mind is already working through the implications of that meeting. “Tell them I can do two o’clock,” he says, his tone leaving no room for negotiations. “But I need the briefing notes on their previous campaign history first. Have Harper sent them to my inbox by noon.” As Stells nods and turns to leave, his icy blue eyes shift toward the door.Oliver finished his coffee and began preparing for his conference calls. At nine AM sharp, his laptop displaying a grid of faces belonging to the company’s fabric distributors. The call began with a brief introduction before Oliver outlined ThreadForms’ upcoming seasonal collection and the increased demand the company was anticipating. He emphasized that maintaining ThreadForms’ reputation for quality was more important than simply securing the lowest prices. The distributor

An hour and a half later, Oliver and Harper were both in professional mode. Harper wore a sleek night blue pantsuit, styled with a simple deep sea blue top and pointed black leather heels. The night blue blazer is a fitted, feminine silhouette with long sleeves and a structured shoulder line. It is closely tailored through Harper’s waist, creating a defined hourglass-like shape and the front has slightly longer, pointed lower edges extending over her hips. Underneath the blazer is a deep-sea blue, short sleeved fitted top with a simple, modest, rounded neckline. The night blue trousers are high-waisted and had a slim and tapered cut following the shape of her hips and thighs before narrowing toward her ankles. Her outfit is accessorized with silver-toned dangling earrings, and she is wearing a delicate layered necklace that includes a small pendant.Oliver was wearing a sharp, tailored grey three-piece suit with a crisp cream shirt. The jacket is a Paynes grey with a sm

“You know,” Marius called out, his voice carrying easily across the quiet room. “If you are making pancakes, I expect them to be perfectly golden. No burnt edges. I have very high standards for my breakfast.”“I will try my best,” Tera said with a bright smile, turning to face him. “But I make no promises.” Marius chuckled, a low, warm sound that seemed to vibrate from deep in his chest. He watched her for a moment longer; the bright smile she aimed at him lingering in his mind like a photograph. “No promises,” he mimicked, his tone mock offended. “That is the attitude of a woman who knows she can get away with anything.” He sat up then, the cool air hitting his bare skin, and he did not bother reaching for anything to cover himself. Instead, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet meeting the hardwood floor with a soft thud. He ran both hands through his reddish-brown hair, pushing it back f

“Hey, Anna,” Zack says softly, waiting for her to look up before continuing. “Thanks. For earlier. And for breakfast.” It is a rare moment of vulnerability for him, stripped of all the usual posturing and bravado. He does not linger on it, though– he opens the motel room door and steps out into the hallway, his voice returning to its casual confident tone. The sunlight hits him hard, making him squint for a second. “Earlier?” she asks as she rushes to join him. “What part?” Zack stops in the hallway, turning to face her with a half-smile that is more amused than anything else. He can see genuine confusion in her brown eyes, and it makes him want to laugh. “Everything,” he says simply, his voice dropping low. “The way you looked at me. The way you said my name. All of it.”Zack reaches out, his hand finding the small of Anna’s back and pulling her just a little closer as they head toward the stairs. “Don’t act like you do not know exactly what I am talking about, Anna,” he teases, his g

“If you are so worried about making a mess, maybe you should sit on the floor like a kid,” Anna joked before taking a bite of pancake herself. Zack nearly chokes on the pancake in his mouth, a startled laugh breaking through his throat. He points his fork at her, his dark green eyes sparkling with mick indignation. “Sit on the floor? Like a kid?” he repeats, shaking his head. “You are lucky you are cute, Anna, because that is low even for you.” He takes another bite, chewing slowly as he watches her eat. The morning light is getting stronger now, filling the room with a warm, golden glow that makes everything feel softer, more real. The tension from his dream has completely dissipated, replaced by this easy, domestic rhythm.“And for the record,” Zack adds, his voice dropping into that lazy, confident drawl again. “I do not act like a kid. I am a grown man. I deserve a seat.” He nudges Anna’s shoulder with his own, a gentle, affectionate gesture that says more than his words ever could

“What did you get us?” Zack asked hoping to distract her. “Pancakes. They did not have blueberry pancakes,” Anna said as she moved to place the white paper bag on the bedside table and then turning to him, cupping his cheek. He leans into her touch instinctively, his eyes closing as his palm rests against his cheek. The warmth of her hand is grounding, pulling him further away from the coldness of his dream and back into the reality of this room, this morning. “Blueberry or not, I am not complaining,” he murmurs, his voice low and sleepy. He reaches up, covering her hand with his own, pressing her palm more firmly against his face. He does not care about the pancakes right now. He just wants to stay in this moment, where the only thing that matters is the weight of her hand and the way she looks at him like he is something worth keeping.“You are too good to me, Anna,” Zack said, opening his green eyes to look at her. There is no sarcasm in it, no bravado. Just a quiet, honest admissio

A dream settles over Zack, quiet and suffocating, like frost creeping across the glass. He is small again and the world is too big, the house too hollow. Even the air feels wrong, as if something essential is missing. The warmth that once lived in the walls is gone, replaced by a thin, biting cold that seeps into his skin and stays there. He wakes in the darkness. For a moment, there is nothing– just the faint hum of the house, the distant creak of settling wood. Then he hears it. A noise downstairs. Soft. Irregular. Real. Hope ignites in him so fast it almost hurts. He is out of his car shaped bed before the thought can catch up to him, bare feet hitting the hardwood with small, quick slaps. He does not feel the cold floor. He does not feel anything except that fragile, desperate certainty blooming in his chest.It is her. It has to be. Mom? The word rises, but it never makes it out. it sticks somewhere deep, like even now he knows better than to say it out loud– because saying it mig

In the background the movie comes to an end and the song ‘Let it show! Let it snow! Let it snow!’ starts playing:Oh, the weather outside is frightful. But the fire, it’s so delightful. And since we’ve no place to go. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!“God,” Zack breathes out, the word barely a whisper. His voice is completely drained, stripped of all its usual edge. He does not pull away. Instead, he shifts slightly, rolling onto his side and pulling Anna with him so she is tucked against his chest. “That was…” she began and took a sharp breath. His chest is still rising and falling in heavy, uneven beats. He does not move, just lies there with his arm draped heavily over her waist, his fingers tracing idle, lazy patterns against her skin. The intensity of those last few minutes has left him physically drained, but his mind is still buzzing, still reeling from the sheer closeness of it. He turns his head slightly, his chin brushing against the top of her hair.Man, it doesn’t sho

Anna moaned as Zack rubbed against her from behind. The sound of her moan– soft, breathless, and entirely unguarded– hits him like a physical weight. His jaw tightens, his teeth grinding together as he fights the urge to lose that promised control. “You sound so good,” he rasps, his voice barely a whisper against her skin. “Do that again.” He does not rush. He keeps his movements slow and deliberate, just like he promised, but the rhythm is heavy, intentional. His hands stay anchored on her hips, guiding her, keeping her steady as he maintains that agonizingly slow friction. His other hand reaches around, fingers splaying across her stomach, pulling her back against him so there is no space left between them. He can feel every vibration of her moan through his own chest.“I have got you, just breathe. I am right here.” Zack murmurs, his lips grazing her shoulder blade. “Ah, God. Zack,” Anna moaned sweetly. “I want you inside me.” The way she says his name– not like a challenge, not lik