"My name is Guy. I am the watcher, the rememberer-the one who chronicles when warriors fall silent. I have seen a shadow move across the land, as old as the first dawn and colder than the last night. I have felt kingdoms shudder beneath its passing. I have watched hope die-and rise again-in the same breath. A king has bargained with darkness. A dragon dreams of ruin. A warrior walks toward a fate that may break the world. And I follow, quill in hand, praying the Maker will forgive me for the truths I must write. For this is not only the tale of Gideon Beckett. It is the tale of all of us-standing at the edge of an age that does not care whether we survive it. If you turn this page...then walk with me. Into the shadow. Into the fire. Into the story that may outlive us all." Brother Guy of Llano Chapel, Formerly of Walnut Hill Abbey, & Humble chronicler of deeds far larger than himself

Gwendolyn is living the fairy-tale life. She's a princess. She lives in a castle with her father the king and her loving siblings. Everything is perfect. Or it was. One day, Gwen overhears a visiting prince commenting on her appearance in the harshest of terms and her world is upended. She's always known she didn't look like your typical princess, but her family thinks she's beautiful. No one has ever been so mean. Devastated, Gwen runs into the Haunted Forest and there she meets the Cursed Princesses, a group of outcasts and misfits who band together to show Gwen that she really is a princess. Based on the hit WEBTOON and adapted by best-selling author Michelle Knudsen, these novels will take readers deep into the world of the Cursed Princess Club. *** New parts drop every Thursday.

An infant is found to be the only survivor of a human village just outside of the elven forest. The elves come to investigate not wanting the dead bodies to cause problems. They find the infant with her dead mother surrounded by dead invaders. There is no identity, no way to find relatives, and no way of even knowing if the father of the baby survived elsewhere. The elves try to find a human home for the infant and fail. The general of the elven army and his wife the high priestess of their goddess take the child in and teach her of the ways of the elves. Yet all good things must come to an end, at eighteen years of age, far younger than the elven youth trained by the girl's adoptive father she is told that there is no more that they can teach her and she must now leave and make her way in the human world. Now she must embark on living in the human world that she never knew leaving behind the only life, the only people she's ever known. Just what is Jessa going to do now and how is she going to fit into this world, when she never fit into the world she's leaving behind?

"The frontier is no longer quiet. Goblin clans crawl from their warrens. Orc warbands thunder along the old roads. Spirits stir in the Boarwood-restless, whispering, dramatically ominous. And beyond the hills... something older turns in its sleep. Something is coming. Something vast enough to make even the wilds hold their breath-and trust me, when trees start holding their breath, it's time to worry. And Sir Gideon Beckett-knight, wanderer, walking catastrophe deterrent-is marching straight toward the center of it all. As he does. I have watched him face raiders, duels, ogres, daemons, and a troll large enough to qualify as a geological feature. He wins-of course he wins-but the omens grow heavier by the day. The shadows deepen. Whispers speak of powers stirring that have no business stirring. What comes next will test the soul of the frontier... and the man who carries the White Tree. I can only hope I'm equal to the task of recording it-and pray the Maker grants us time to breathe before the next disaster arrives on our doorstep. The storm gathers fast and the Frontier braces for it." -Brother Guy of Walnut Hill Abbey, humble scribe, reluctant priest, ongoing survivor of Gideon-related peril

"They told me the world was full of wonders-cathedrals lit by divine fire, noble kings with wise hearts, and saints who walked with halos of gold. So I left the abbey in my forty-third year, parchment and quill in hand, to write of such marvels. Instead, I found Sir Gideon. He was no saint. He said little, prayed often, and wore his helmet like a burial mask. His sword was older than his soul, and his armor smelled of smoke and blood. And yet, when he walked into a village about to be razed or stood between a tyrant and a trembling child, the earth seemed to pause. I followed him-because I thought he was holy. I stayed because I learned holiness isn't always beautiful. Our journey took us through war-torn fields, outlaw dens, and ruins haunted by more than ghosts. I met women who had lost everything and still believed, children who cried in the shadows, and men who wore virtue like a lie. And through it all, Sir Gideon carried his shame like a cross-his silence heavy, his justice swift, and his kindness... well-hidden. These are not stories of triumph and trumpet blasts. They are the quiet accounts of a knight who does not see himself as good, and a halfling who once thought goodness came with clean robes and clear answers. I wrote them because the world needs to know: Some heroes do not look like heroes. And sometimes, the greatest light comes from the most battered lantern..."

They say the frost came early that year. Whispers of a pale woman wandering the highlands. Of villagers left bloodless in forests and streets. They call her a vampire. A monster. A curse returned from beneath the soil. But curses do not wear smiles, and monsters do not weep when they think themselves alone. I saw her once-only once-and I do not believe she wanted to be what she is. Still, people are dying. Disappearing. And every time we get close to the truth, we find something worse-blood in the alleys, and screams in the mouths of the dead. So we ride again-Sir Gideon Beckett and I. Into frozen woods and poisoned courts. Into crypts beneath manors. Into truths we might not wish to find. The world grows colder. But I carry my quill like a torch. If we are to fall, let it not be into silence. Let it be written.

"Let me tell you a story-not of heroes in shining armor (though there is a knight), nor of kings and crowns (though they do appear), but of a season in which the quiet threads of ordinary folk were yanked into a tapestry far grander, and far more perilous, than any of us expected. It began, as these things often do, with blood on the cobblestones and smoke in the sky. Whispers of raids on the western frontier, a princess with fire in her eyes, and a shadow crawling through the alleys of Seleone. Amid all that, I-a humble monk-stumbled into the company of a vagabond knight with no name worth mentioning and a habit of walking into death like it owed him money. What followed was... well, chaos. Battle. Betrayal. A daemon or two. The city groaned beneath the weight of secrets long buried. And beneath it all, something darker stirred-something with too many names, and one title that none dared speak aloud. But I've said too much. If you seek a tale of swords and sorrow, of faith and fury, of jesters, generals, and ghosts in alleyways-this is your story. And if you're wondering how it all ends? Well... I'm still here to write it down. For now." -As scribbled (and sighed over) by Guy of Walnut Hill Abbey, itinerant monk and accidental chronicler of legends

A Chronicle by Guy le Gros, Unofficial Scribe of the Maker's Most Vexing Knight "I came to the capital expecting libraries, liturgy, and perhaps a few polite miracles. Instead, I found corruption dressed in silk, a city rotting beneath golden rooftops, and a brothel so foul it made the Outlands look tame. And in the middle of it all-Gideon Beckett. Knight. Enigma. Walking contradiction. He dove straight into the filth without so much as a plan or backup-just faith, a sword, and that brooding silence he wears like a second helm. We uncovered a den of human trafficking backed by killers-for-hire and protected by masks thicker than the palace walls. And yet... For the first time, people are speaking the word hope without irony." -Guy le Gros Halfling. Priest. Chronicler of lost causes and stubborn saints.

Images I will use will not belong to me unless said otherwise. Cover belongs to rightful artist due to its badassery being to good for me

Fleeing his home, Jace ends up starring on a reality show, playing "Orc Wars: Uprising". Only one avatar can win, and if he loses, Jace is back on the streets. ***** Facing abuse at home, Jace runs away and lives on the streets. But it's not long before he finds an opportunity to build a new life - he's going to compete on a reality series based around the game "Orc Wars: Uprising". Soon Jace is living a double life, as himself, and as his famous avatar: Lazarus the Ranger. Soon the game is growing more complicated, and factions form within the game. If Jace loses he'll be back on the streets, but if he wins, he'll have everything he always dreamed of. [[word count: 150,000-200,000 words]]