But nothing came back online afterward. And so the old world died.
Something important had changed. Rifts opened. Myst pooled in the cities and other places men lived, killing everyone, everything that didn’t flee.
Dark things live there now.
Evil things. Magic things.
But the kids know that not just evil creeps out of the myst. Good creatures come too: like the cat-woman with the tattooed fangs, the eight-legged dog boy, and the witches.
Brendon watches for the witches every year, hoping the Winter Witch will bless the blue-dragon-eggs he gathered, will hatch the beings hidden within.
For he knows they need something more to fight the myst and the creatures crawling out of it. Or else humanity is doomed.
This short story is part of the Uncollected Anthology series.
uncollected: not collected or gathered together
oxymoron: a combination of words that have opposite or very different meanings
The Uncollected Anthology series is indeed an oxymoron. Sprung from the minds of seven fabulous authors who love fantasy, short stories, and each other’s writing, the series’ main goal is to bring you quality urban fantasy fiction.
Every three months, the authors pick a theme and write a short story for that theme. But instead of bundling the stories together, they each sell their own stories. No muss, no fuss—you can buy one story, or you can buy them all. (We’ll be honest: we hope you buy them all!)
Uncollected Anthology: When you can’t get enough of the stories you love.