Cantria: New Realm
The journey begins with two siblings, Emma and Will, who have faced a challenging start in life. Follow them through an epic tale as they venture into a new realm, steeped in magic and adorned with medieval themes. In this uncharted territory, Emma and Will find themselves in Cantria, a breathtaking medieval kingdom. Here, they encounter new experiences: romance, love, bloodshed, and gore. As the threat of an epic war looms between rivaling kingdoms, Emma and Will must harness the elements to protect their loved ones. After a devastating conflict marked by death, they uncover the reasons behind their suffering, revealing an even more formidable adversary.
Cantria: The Alliance
In the aftermath of the devastating war, Emma and Will find themselves drawn deeper into the enigmatic realm of Cantria. As the kingdom rebuilds, ancient secrets resurface, threatening the fragile peace.
Emma discovers a hidden lineage—one that connects her to the very magic that shaped Cantria. Will grapples with newfound abilities, torn between duty and desire. Together, they unravel cryptic prophecies that foretell an impending darkness.
Stay tuned for “Cantria: The Alliance” where magic, destiny, and sacrifice collide.
Book is currently in production.
Short Story
Hidden Suspect
Static crackled from the radio, and a broken voice announced, “Breaking news: the notorious mass murderer strikes again.”
A sudden slam made Casey jump, her gaze drawn to a large pile of office papers dropped onto her desk. Apologetic eyes met hers. She glanced over the stack, then out at the setting sun.
“Another late night,” she whispered.
Jason patted the top of the documents. “Be careful walking home. Can I order you a taxi?”
Casey shook her head. Working paycheck to paycheck, she couldn’t afford a taxi. At nine p.m., she was the last person in the building apart from security. They nodded as she stepped into the cold night to begin her journey home. Every noise set her nerves on edge. She tightened her grip on her bag and quickened her pace.
A black van slowed, diverting her toward the park. When she glanced back, a young couple exited the van. Relief washed over her—until a snap echoed. Suddenly, she stood in complete darkness, surrounded by trees, with a hooded figure directly in front of her. So close she could see the smile lurking beneath the hood.
Casey awoke to find herself locked in a cramped space. Her fingers brushed dried liquid in her hair. A sudden jolt flung her upward—the car had hit a pothole. She explored with her hands, finding a small compartment. Inside was a bag containing a set of sharp scissors. She traced the creases in the car’s back seat, hearing the radio play on, seemingly unnoticed. Slowly, the armrest lowered, revealing a tight hole. The driver remained blissfully unaware as Casey drove the scissors into his neck, causing the car to swerve off the road.
In the hospital, Casey’s eyes followed a green line on the monitor. Her mother held her hand. “What happened?” Casey’s words fell on deaf ears.
Observing her lifeless body, Casey felt opaque, disconnected. Leaving the room, she shouted, but no one acknowledged her. One set of eyes followed her.
“Can you see me?” she asked.
They nodded.
“We are dead,” they replied.
“I’m not dead,” Casey protested, still hearing the machine’s beeping.
“You must be close.” The figure drifted through a wall.
Panic surged. Back at her body, doctors confirmed her fate. “How can I wake myself up?”
Watching her limp form, Casey felt alone. She tried everything—laying down, jumping, banging on the machine. Then a blood-curdling screech echoed through the hospital.
The police called it in—a suspected mass murder connection. If she was outside her body, maybe he was too. How could she protect herself from a ghost? Hours passed, but still no sign of anyone.
Too scared to leave her body unguarded, Casey stared out the hospital door at the bustling scene—police officers everywhere.
“Breaking news,” several radios crackled in unison, “we have another.”
Amidst the chaos, a figure loomed, eyes fixed on her. How long it stared felt like an eternity before it vanished into the mayhem. Somehow, it was killing in this form. Casey reached for an object nearby, but her transparent hand passed through it. She wondered how any of this was possible.
Glancing back out the door, she saw him again—clear as day. Every feature etched on his face. Startled, she stumbled backward. He disappeared. Gathering courage, she hurried to the room where his body lay. Contemplating unplugging the machines, she knew she had to wake him up somehow.
Casey struck his body with all her strength. Nothing. Pacing, she felt lost. Then she noticed an older man in the opposite room, adjusting withered flowers in a vase.
“How did you do that?” Casey watched in wonder.
Beside the frail man hooked up to machines stood his transparent self.
“I can’t stand dead flowers,” he said matter-of-factly, discarding the brown petals. Calmly, he asked, “Are you dead or dying?”
Static crackled from the radio, and a broken voice announced, “Breaking news: the notorious mass murderer strikes again.”
A sudden slam made Casey jump, her gaze drawn to a large pile of office papers dropped onto her desk. Apologetic eyes met hers. She glanced over the stack, then out at the setting sun.
“Another late night,” she whispered.
Jason patted the top of the documents. “Be careful walking home. Can I order you a taxi?”
Casey shook her head. Working paycheck to paycheck, she couldn’t afford a taxi. At nine p.m., she was the last person in the building apart from security. They nodded as she stepped into the cold night to begin her journey home. Every noise set her nerves on edge. She tightened her grip on her bag and quickened her pace.
A black van slowed, diverting her toward the park. When she glanced back, a young couple exited the van. Relief washed over her—until a snap echoed. Suddenly, she stood in complete darkness, surrounded by trees, with a hooded figure directly in front of her. So close she could see the smile lurking beneath the hood.
Casey awoke to find herself locked in a cramped space. Her fingers brushed dried liquid in her hair. A sudden jolt flung her upward—the car had hit a pothole. She explored with her hands, finding a small compartment. Inside was a bag containing a set of sharp scissors. She traced the creases in the car’s back seat, hearing the radio play on, seemingly unnoticed. Slowly, the armrest lowered, revealing a tight hole. The driver remained blissfully unaware as Casey drove the scissors into his neck, causing the car to swerve off the road.
In the hospital, Casey’s eyes followed a green line on the monitor. Her mother held her hand. “What happened?” Casey’s words fell on deaf ears.
Observing her lifeless body, Casey felt opaque, disconnected. Leaving the room, she shouted, but no one acknowledged her. One set of eyes followed her.
“Can you see me?” she asked.
They nodded.
“We are dead,” they replied.
“I’m not dead,” Casey protested, still hearing the machine’s beeping.
“You must be close.” The figure drifted through a wall.
Panic surged. Back at her body, doctors confirmed her fate. “How can I wake myself up?”
Watching her limp form, Casey felt alone. She tried everything—laying down, jumping, banging on the machine. Then a blood-curdling screech echoed through the hospital.
The police called it in—a suspected mass murder connection. If she was outside her body, maybe he was too. How could she protect herself from a ghost? Hours passed, but still no sign of anyone.
Too scared to leave her body unguarded, Casey stared out the hospital door at the bustling scene—police officers everywhere.
“Breaking news,” several radios crackled in unison, “we have another.”
Amidst the chaos, a figure loomed, eyes fixed on her. How long it stared felt like an eternity before it vanished into the mayhem. Somehow, it was killing in this form. Casey reached for an object nearby, but her transparent hand passed through it. She wondered how any of this was possible.
Glancing back out the door, she saw him again—clear as day. Every feature etched on his face. Startled, she stumbled backward. He disappeared. Gathering courage, she hurried to the room where his body lay. Contemplating unplugging the machines, she knew she had to wake him up somehow.
Casey struck his body with all her strength. Nothing. Pacing, she felt lost. Then she noticed an older man in the opposite room, adjusting withered flowers in a vase.
“How did you do that?” Casey watched in wonder.
Beside the frail man hooked up to machines stood his transparent self.
“I can’t stand dead flowers,” he said matter-of-factly, discarding the brown petals. Calmly, he asked, “Are you dead or dying?”