Makima Stare Novels & Stories

Doctor Makya says as my eyes flutter open. “Where’s Kaiya?” I ask in my raspy voice. “I made her go back to the packhouse and get some rest,” Makya says. “She and Ace and Dylan will be back, like always, after they have rested and showered.” How long have I been out? “Rest, you…you called a very big storm on yourself and well…there is a crater in the center of the garden’s labyrinth,” Makya explains. What in the goddess’s name did I do?

Mira’s eyes widened, Max looked genuinely stunned and Jack froze completely. Becca stared in disbelief because standing there, real and impossibly calm was Kaelyn.

Malkia gestured for Mwajuma to step forward. Mwajuma moved to the center of the balcony, the heavy iron-shale armor moving flawlessly with her broad shoulders. She looked out over the sea of faces—Kesi, Nia, Binta, Chausiku—all looking up at her with absolute, unwavering trust. "Mwajuma, the Earth-Breaker," Malkia proclaimed. "Kneel." Mwajuma dropped to her right knee, the heavy stone of her gauntlet resting against the polished wood of the balcony. She bowed her head, exposing the thick, muscular column of her neck and the dark collar resting there.

She looked at me and my eyes met her teary ones. Who the hell is making her cry again?! ***** Makaila's POV "Well, well, well." He started, that familiar smirk playing on his lips. He began to walk towards me, the others following behind. "Look who we have here." He shared a malicious laugh with his counterparts and I rolled my eyes, trying not to show that I was intimidated.

"What have you done?" "What I should have done a long time ago," Maika replied. "I have allowed you four cause a lot of havoc already. It has to stop." Flow and Radiant tried to stand up from the table but they couldn't. Their legs felt like lead. "You all are paralyzed already," Maika shrugged. "You would die sitting, unable to move a bone in your body. You would watch your own body rot for days till you die. How does that sound to you?" "What do you want, Maika?" Maisey asked weakly. "Name your price and I would give you. You want your own kingdom when I take over the realm? Say whatever you want!"

Like I've finally come home. I shake my head, trying to get rid of this strange feeling. It's scary, but wonderful at the same time. And still, Malakar stares at me. He doesn't even blink. He tries to sit up, but his massive arms are to weak to support his weight and he fumbles back down. So, instead he raises his head so that he can look at me again. His yellow eyes grow dark. A strange expression crosses his face. "Mate." He whispers in a dominating and primal voice.

Mahira’s face was blank but Mak was in a frenzy, “Damn, is this guy crazy or what, is he a gangster, is this a kind of warning, Oh No! somebody save me, I still have to enjoy my youth, I have to look after so many girl friends, what if I die, what if... ,” “Shut up will you,” Mahira had to yell to shush him, “Its just a plant for God’s sake, don’t over react,” Mak was silent, “Well, I was just.. just thinking out loud, I am not scared of a cactus , damn you,” he said as he stood up to go to kitchen, “and damn that crazy stalker of yours.” Mahira really wondered sometimes, what did she see in Mak to have him as a friend even, she ignored him and returned to opening the note.

Everyone was waiting. “We move in fifteen,” Makayla said, her tone brisk. “Caravan formation. First decoy rolls out in five. Strike group follows by six sharp.” Clay tossed me a comm device. “Let’s finish this.” I nodded. And as I clipped the earpiece in and turned toward the door, the image of Amaya—bruised, bound, but unbroken—burned behind my eyes like a promise. You hold on, baby. I’m coming.

Yet somehow— It suddenly looked uncertain. ⸻ Amara’s pulse thundered. ⸻ “What is this?” ⸻ No one answered. ⸻ Because no one knew. ⸻ Then Malakai spoke. ⸻ His voice sounded shaken. ⸻ “I’ve seen that mark before.” ⸻ Every head turned toward him. ⸻ Including the Fallen Celestial’s. ⸻ Silence stretched across the ruined mountain. ⸻ Amara stared.

AMARA ​The bright, studio-grade LED lights of the makeup artist’s ring-light snapped on with a sudden, aggressive click, blinding me in a wash of stark, unforgiving white. To Diva and Mara—the newly arrived makeup artist—it was just the start of a standard, high-profile glam session. To me, it felt like an interrogation lamp. It cast sharp, clinical shadows across the linoleum, exposing every flaw, every tremor, and every ounce of the terror I was desperately trying to bury beneath my skin.