Ongoing Web Novels

In the Ashen Orbit, there is no sun—only the Great Aurora, a river of luminous air that drifts between fractured asteroid-cities. To lose the aurora is to freeze in minutes. When the light-tide begins to contract, the great powers deploy their square-rigged galleons, unleashing chromatic cannonades that turn the darkness into slaughter. Flag-Lieutenant Baltasar Orellana wants only to guide his weary fleet home, but Signal-Officer Elvira Cestari discovers that every artillery duel in the slipstream bleeds away the very atmosphere keeping the ring-cities alive. As fleets collide in brilliant flashes of shot and sail, four leaders must choose between crushing their enemies or watching their worlds drift into eternal cold.

The neon sign at the Martell Waystation has guided weary continental haulers for thirty years, offering hot showers, homemade peach pie, and bio-magnetic therapy for stiff shoulders. Leda Martell, an upbeat therapist, uses hands-on neurological alignment to dissolve deep exhaustion in freight shifters who drive mega-hauler rigs across three continental trade routes. Her favorite regular is Bram Oster, a massive sun-bear shifter whose cross-country hauls leave him hopelessly knotted and adorably sleepy. When a ruthless tech conglomerate moves to bulldoze their oasis for sterile robotic charging pods, Bram parks his twelve-wheeler across the driveway and refuses to budge. Between defending her roadside haven, working out the stubborn kinks in his broad shoulders, and sharing late-night diner coffee over the jukebox, their quiet friendship shifts into a warm, undeniable romance. Saving this stop means fighting for their future together.

At the Solarium Spire, court-mandated digital detox is taken very seriously. As head therapist, Oona Calder thrives on stripping arrogant tech founders of their wearables, algorithmic assistants, and bespoke espresso apps, forcing them to churn butter and weed real soil. Her newest assignment is Macsen Rook, a devastatingly charming coder serving thirty days of analog community service for designing an aggressively disruptive meme virus. Assigned to Oona’s kitchen crew, Macsen quickly proves to be utterly useless with a potato peeler but dangerously skilled at getting under her skin. When a mechanical breakdown leaves the retreat’s luxury guests facing genuine manual labor, Oona and Macsen must run the kitchen together—discovering that life offline has never felt so dangerously electric.

Telford Wainwright is a pragmatic chief sluice-engineer who relies on calculated hydraulic models to keep the regional grid alive. Morwenna Clayrow is an intuitive riverbank soil-steward who uses traditional sediment-terrace farming to protect community topsoil. When regional grid authorities mandate a catastrophic release of silt-choked floodwaters across the agricultural basin to prevent an urban blackout, their lives collide in the claustrophobic monitoring station of the estuary barrage. As they argue over water-displacement schedules and battle over temperamental valve servos, their mutual irritation sparks an intense physical attraction, forcing them to choose between their opposing duties and the growing bond between them.

Under the azure waters of Nyanza-Moyo, Folasade-Oma is an unstoppable warrior, using flash-frozen coral structures to shatter enemy hulls and protect her island home. On the mainland, Kwame-Eke is the premier siege engineer, building towering assault barges destined to bring the islanders to their knees. But when Folasade boards his flagship to sink it and Kwame refuses to abandon his masterpiece, a sudden storm wrecks the barge and drags them both into a perilous, forgotten submerged labyrinth. Armed with only a handful of crystal-forming sponges and Kwame's mechanical wits, the fierce diver and the charming engineer must fight their way through ancient perils. In the depths, surviving means trusting the enemy—and surrendering to a passion deeper than the sea.

The ember in Grietje Zwanenburg’s horn is the only thing keeping thirty people alive in the twilight world beyond the Star-Wound. As the chosen fire-keeper, her life belongs to the hearth, not herself. But out on the volcanic steppes, someone else is watching the smoke rise. Wouter Heenk is an exile, an apex butcher who wears the occult skull of an extinct void-cat and knows no law but hunger. He does not care about Grietje's clan, but he is desperately, furiously drawn to her fire—and to the girl who guards it. When he cuts her away from the migration and drags her into the boiling craters, Grietje must decide whether to extinguish her spark or burn with him.

Qillanqa understands moss far better than people. Inside her humid, plant-filled rooftop workshop overlooking the city skyline, she creates miniature glass worlds where everything stays balanced, quiet, and predictable. Her peaceful sanctuary is upended when Sayriuay, an impossibly cheerful architectural landscaper with a penchant for oversized sketches and bright sweaters, is assigned to co-design the conservatory's new public mezzanine. Sayriuay wants open breezeways and sprawling flower beds; Qillanqa insists on delicate, enclosed ecosystem capsules. As they share steamy tea, late-night drafting tables, and messy soil trays, their prickly professional rivalry softens into something deeply tender. When a sudden storm threatens their most fragile specimens, working together becomes the only way to build a sanctuary large enough for both of their hearts.

Hajnalka is a calculating, aristocratic fortress alchemist who carves her existence into the high limestone karsts of Bakonyerdő. She is a creature of order, brewing caustic, flesh-melting venoms to defend her immaculate citadel from the colossal blind arthropods that swarm the pitch-black subterranean abysses below.

Vencel Szilágyi is an exiled outlaw swarm-warlord grafted with occult chitin, a brutal but charismatic conqueror who commands those same flesh-eating horrors. To him, the giant lethal burrower-mantises are prize ferrets, and Hajnalka’s aerie is just another obstacle to pull down into the deep.

When the stone flagstones of Hajnalka’s workshop split open, Vencel does not just want her dead. He drags her down the jagged abyss shafts and fits her with a spiked iron collar to make her the brood-mother alchemist for his ravenous hive. But Hajnalka has no intention of being a helpless captive. To survive the blind terrors of the deep and the predatory, intense obsession of her captor, she must weaponize her chemistry against the very monsters she hates. Every drop of pheromone tincture she brews shifts the balance of power, turning her from a furious prisoner into a lethal, bloodstained accomplice. In a kingdom carved out of darkness and brutality, Hajnalka and Vencel will blur the line between captor and willing partner in a deadly dance of control.

Isla hears the things people think they said in private. It makes her a very good translator, and an impossible person to lie to. But when the lease on her beloved bookstore is set to expire in exactly forty-five days, being an excellent listener isn’t enough. The developer tearing down the block, Lorcán MacAoidh, is relentlessly polite, devastatingly effective, and hiding a countdown of his own—a condition that means he cannot afford to wait. What starts as a desperate negotiation over brick and mortar turns into a race against the clock. As the days tick down on chapter headers, Isla must use her gift to find leverage against him, only to discover that the secrets he doesn't speak are the ones that could destroy them both.

Malo'i is forty minutes away from his weekend when the penthouse elevator sprouts carnivorous purple vines. The culprit is Vaea, a gorgeous, haughty orchid-fae who sprouted from an imported planter and immediately declared herself supreme empress of the 150-story Aethel-Apex tower. Malo'i does not care about ancient fae dominion; he cares about his union break. Armed with commercial weedkiller and relentless deadpan sarcasm, he sets out to prune her revolution. But when the building's automated defense network misinterprets their feud and locks the entire skyscraper down, the sworn enemies are trapped together in a bio-engineered jungle. To survive, they'll have to negotiate a truce—and ignore the intoxicating pheromones blooming between them.

Across the ruins of the Scintillating Vast, kilometers-long biomechanical leviathans graze on solar winds—and Velskr is reckless enough to ride them. Armed with magnetic grav-spears and an indomitable grin, Velskr’s crew wrestles wandering star-beasts for sport and glory. But when Crown Prince Haelmund rigs an entire herd of cybernetic dread-mantas to trample civilian ring-worlds, the hunt turns into a desperate crusade. Dodging dreadnought fire, navigating kinetic storm fields, and leaping across the vacuum onto thrashing metal hides, Velskr must lead a wild charge through imperial battle lines. It takes madmen to steer a stampede through a fleet of warships, but when the alternative is planetary extinction, Velskr wouldn't have it any other way. Hold on tight: space is about to get wild.

The void-currents of the Drifting Reefs swallow any sailor who cannot sing the paths. With my eyes blindfolded and a piece of flint in my fist, I can navigate the darkest star-seas by the echo of my own voice. But my song woke Arsham-shah—a primordial ocean-god whose skin is living coral and starlight. He rose from the abyss not to drown my people, but to drag me down into his glowing depths. He watches me from the black water, his touch pulling the tide beneath my skin, demanding that I sing only for him. If I refuse him, my people will never find land; if I yield, I will drown in his desire.

Nusa has one golden rule: don't touch live wires during an electrical storm. He is forced to break it when he finds Sela, a tempest-shifter with electric-blue wings, treating the continental telegraph network as her personal snack buffet. When an industrial power cartel rolls out steam-powered condenser engines designed to harvest every drop of storm-magic from the sky, Sela's clan faces extinction. Since Nusa is the only person on the continent whose skin can ground her volatile static shocks without bursting into flames, she ropes him into an airborne sabotage mission across five nations. Surviving the high-voltage sabotage is hard enough, but resisting their wildly electric mutual attraction proves downright impossible.

When a submerged holo-projector glazes a prehistoric stilt city in invincible hard-light ancestor holograms who demand micromanagement of daily tribal life, four beleaguered clan representatives must work together to short out the generator before they are nagged to extinction.

When shaman Brandcombe dropped his lucky bone into the sacred tar pit, he expected a blessing. He did not expect twelve-foot-tall, glowing, invincible "ancestors" to march out of the muck and demand to see everyone's residential permits. The hard-light figures can deflect mammoth-ivory axes with a smirk, but worse, they won't stop managing things. They've banned weapon-sharpening during quiet hours, put the warband chiefs on mandatory remedial teamwork workshops, and locked the fishing docks behind glowing barriers because nobody is wearing approved buoyancy vests. To save their way of life, Gougerow, Thatchwick, Brandcombe, and Miltrow must wage an underground war of sabotage against unkillable, patronizing light-ghosts and drown the master crystal in boiling asphalt.

A cave-diver must drop into an inverted subterranean world to poison its megafauna nursery, while an apex hunter from below must climb the reverse-gravity cliffs to slaughter the ceiling-clans for their obsidian. Two worlds face each other across a thousand-foot vertical drop, where gravity reverses precisely at the midpoint. Sorcha is a ceiling diver who treats mercy as a lethal luxury, and Ruiseart is a brutal floor-realm hunter determined to strip the upper world of weapons-grade glass. As their desperate realities collide over starving clans and exhausted resources, they will shatter the chasm itself.

Idir Mezraoui was once the most feared duelist in the civilized territories, his blade a blur of silver. Now, a lingering injury restricts him to pacing the polished, claustrophobic halls of Dar-el-Mizan Academy as a coach to the prodigious Safiya Tindani. But when a sudden assassination strikes the academy's inner sanctum on the eve of the grand exhibition, Idir finds himself violently yanked backward in time to the exact start of the day. Trapped in a temporal lock, he must untangle a decades-old covered-up internal scandal, analyze a closed circle of academy elite, and unmask a killer who strikes from the shadows with institutional sanction. With every loop, Idir gathers concrete clues and peels back the pristine veneer of Dar-el-Mizan, uncovering the rot eating away at the only institution standing between civil order and absolute chaos.

Every street in Qashtarim has a level, and every level is a lie somebody's paying for. The city climbs in nine stacked Tiers, and the high ones don't just look down on the rest — they float, held up by Varakh, the only thing that keeps the lights on, the water clean, and the whole rotten tower from dropping out of the sky. One faction owns all of it. Sarqon Dalumim moves the rest: the black-market difference between what the Compact rations out and what people actually need to survive the week. He's good at it — route-sense, nerve, an ear trained to catch a failing engine's hum before it kills him — and he's got exactly one rule he won't break for any price, a rule that already cost him somebody he loved. Then a routine run to save his own freezing district goes wrong, the checkpoint catches him, and he dies. He wakes up three days earlier. Same bed. Same debts. Every memory of dying still sharp enough to cut. The city reset. He didn't — and nobody told him the rules. Now he's got one borrowed stretch of time, a district running out of days, and a monopoly that's starting to notice its black-market losses keep surviving things they shouldn't. Figure out how the loop works. Keep the line he won't cross. Get there before the lights go out for good — and do it again, and again, for as long as it takes, because the only thing that carries over is what he refuses to forget.

Healer Jussi Vainikalt thought the Kuulasmaa Authentication House would be a quiet place to hide from the ghost of the patient he intentionally let die. But when the head appraiser is murdered in the estate's viewing room and a strange mechanical pulse activates, Jussi finds himself waking up on the same morning, the corpse warm again, the suspects resetting their lies. Trapped in a repeating window of time where every reset demands a physical and mental toll, he must use his medical expertise and empirical trial-and-error to unmask the killer and dismantle the machine driving the loop. With an insular cast of rival appraisers, master forgers, and ruthless patrons guarding their own secrets, Jussi has to solve a locked-room murder where the ticking clock isn't counting down to the crime—it's counting down to the erasure of his own existence.

The Haapavesi Spindle House runs through every storm, its steam-powered looms churning out coarse army wool beneath towering iron rafters. Boiler mechanic Oskari Lemmikalt likes the deafening clatter because it drowns out human conversation. But when a pressurized tallow line ruptures into a bone-ash sizing vat, the machinery spins something that was never on the production order. A spindled horror of boiled wool, tallow, and snapping drive-bands hauls itself into the overhead catwalks, hunting down the isolated night shift and sealing every fire hatch with taut, scalding thread. Armed with cutting shears and a steam-lance, Oskari must climb through the shuddering machinery to vent the central boiler before the mill becomes a slaughterhouse.

In Kallanrosta, every forged blade, every woven coat, every crafted thing is born wanting someone — a thread of purpose that pulls it toward the hands it was made for. Venna Aholehto can feel that pull like an ache under her ribs, and when a thread frays past saving, what's left behind doesn't stay quiet. It claws.

Venna steals for a living — items hoarders and merchants and careless nobles have let rot in the wrong hands — and gives them back to the people who were always supposed to have them. It's reckless, it's illegal, and most nights it barely pays for bread. But it keeps the city's hungry, half-formed Snarls from waking up.

Her brother Kaleno chose a different answer to the same problem: control the flow before it ever frays. He rose fast in the Cordage, the cartel that polices the city's threads — and anyone who threads without a license. Now he's exactly the kind of enforcer who could end his sister's whole operation with one order.

When a simple return job pulls Venna into the edges of something far bigger than a hoarder's vault, she starts tugging on threads that lead straight back to the disaster that split her family apart twelve years ago — and straight toward the brother standing in her way.