Bipocauthor Stories

There were rules in Hexvalle. Unspoken ones. Ancient ones. The kind whispered by wind through moss-draped oaks and carved into the bones of the land itself. Most folks forgot them until something remembered them first. It started again on a Tuesday. The moon bled red, like an old wound reopening in the sky. Birds fell silent. The Okeli family garden was lush and overgrown but it burst into bloom far too early, every flower opening at once like mouths gasping for breath. And in the cemetery at the edge of town, Uche Okeli's tomb cracked open from the inside. No one heard the sound except Ms. Curtis, humming low in her garden, whispering to basil and bloodroot like they were kin. "They coming back," she murmured, eyes fogged but not blind. "Not ghosts, not ghouls. Somethin' older." She placed her palms into the dirt and felt it tremble. The wards were thinning. The veil was pulling taut. And this time, the dead weren't coming alone.

In the land of Drakonia, mankind has been at war with dragons for generations. The war has claimed thousands of lives already, and doesn't seem to be ending anytime soon. Wanting for hope, they cry out to their god. And yet, He has not answered. Until now. Apollo is a young man created by the fire god, Proelus, and blessed with His divine power. Naive to the ways of the world, yet endlessly curious, he sets off on an adventure to finally bring peace to Drakonia. Countless have prayed for his arrival. Yet will his people accept him, or will they place their hopes in another generation of war?