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The Last Of The Sun Viking Fantasy

Last Song of the Nation

A forgotten kingdom. A sacred vow. A journey home across centuries. Centuries ago, the fate of a young Vietnamese noblewoman became entwined with the rise and fall of the Champa kingdom. Her name was Thanh Mai—a girl of silken grace and iron spirit, whose heart beat with forbidden love and a fierce loyalty to truth. Her story was nearly lost… until one man dared to follow its echo. In modern-day California, Kien Quoc—a quiet Vietnamese-American engineer—receives his father’s dying wish: return to Vietnam and uncover the roots of their family’s past. His journey leads him into the heart of central Vietnam, where sacred towers sleep beneath moss and myth, and where the memory of Champa lingers in song, stone, and silence. Guided by dreams and joined by Sari, a Balinese journalist equally devoted to Southeast Asia’s lost civilizations, Kien stumbles upon a revelation that challenges history, identity, and the very idea of nationhood. Along the way, they unearth a secret chamber beneath the holy valley of My Son—and within it, a truth that changes everything. Told in sweeping, poetic prose, Last Song of the Nation weaves together two timelines: the fall of Champa through the eyes of a young woman trapped between war and destiny, and a contemporary quest for heritage, love, and healing. At its core lies a question that haunts generations: What do we owe the past, and what can it still teach us today? This is a novel of memory and migration, of culture and compassion, of spirits that never die and songs that still carry across the wind.
dai9999 · 2.5K Views

WarLords : Ice Viking's

The cold stone hall was dimly lit with flickering torches. Shadows stretched long across the floor. At the far end of the room, the King sat high on his throne, surrounded by High Lords, Generals, and Counselors. Silence hung thick in the air as the Ice Viking entered. He stood in the center, arms at his side, eyes forward. “Viking,” the King called from his seat. Varnok didn’t move. “Yes,” he replied flatly. One of the High Lords stood up in anger. “In the presence of your King—you kneel!” The knights draws their Swords. Varnok stayed still. “You’re not my king,” he said calmly. The King raised a hand. The knights lowered their swords. “Let him be,” the King said, leaning forward. “Ice Viking… step forward.” Varnok walked slowly across the cold stone floor. “There is war between the Vikings and this kingdom,” the King said. Varnok kept walking. “It’s your kingdom,” he answered. “That has nothing to do with me.” The lords murmured in outrage. “You think they’ll stop there?” the King asked, raising a hand for silence. “You know what those animals are like. Vikings… they don’t stop until they’ve burned everything to ash.” “And yet I’ve protected the village just fine,” Varnok said. “Without your help. Like it’s always been.” “Without my help, there’d be no village to protect,” the King snapped. “There is a village,” Varnok said, meeting his eyes. “And not once have you offered it your help.” “King... please. What an excuse.” The king nodded toward the general standing beside him. Without hesitation, the general stepped forward and struck Varnok across the face. Then a second punch to the stomach. Finally, a heavy kick to the leg. Varnok dropped to one knee. “Good,” the King said, tipping his goblet and pouring wine over Varnok’s head. “Like the animal you are.” Murmurs filled the hall. > "What an animal." "Fits clearly—a dog." "All Vikings should just die." "Disgusting things." The King laughed with joy as he was Pleased by the words of the people. He leaned forward again, with his voice low. “Maybe we should start with your wife… and child.” The room fell into a deadly stillness. Varnok’s eyes snapped open—glowing bright, ice-blue. A shiver cut through the entire hall. The ground began to vibrate. Goblets trembled. Torches flickered lower. Then came his voice—cold, deep, inhuman. Like the cracking of ancient glaciers. “If a single breath so much as brushes their skin…” “I will bring down such ruin upon this kingdom that even the crows will starve for lack of flesh. I will freeze your rivers. Silence your bells. And watch your palace rot from the inside—As your screams echo in halls no one dares enter. Pray your tongue forgets their names… before I remember yours.” No one moved everywhere was silent. Even the air seemed too afraid to stir.
vickysfantasy · 7.8K Views

Throne Of The Last Sigil

They say the sky burns brighter above Emberholt. Some believe it’s the reflection of a kingdom's burning pride. Others say it's a warning — a flame waiting to consume everything. But the truth is sharper than legend: It’s watching. In the world of Arkanis, power is not gifted. It is taken. And the ones who take it? They train at The Grey Flame Academy — a crucible for the ambitious, the dangerous, and the cursed. Here, students from across the five kingdoms gather to master the blade and the Sigil, two paths that determine their strength, their future, and their survival. Commoners, nobles, and royals alike are thrown into the same fire. Ten pairs of instructors — one swordmaster, one Sigil guide — forge the next generation of warriors. But few rise. Fewer endure. And among them, ten have climbed to the top, untouchable and feared. They are known only as Void. Void doesn’t speak for itself. It doesn’t need to. Its name echoes through the halls like a curse. These are not students. They are future kings and queens of war. Legends in training. Silent blades. If you face one, you don’t graduate. You disappear. Sky stands above even them. The top of the Void. The academy's number one. A student with no title, no noble house, and no reason to trust anyone. He didn’t chase power. Power chased him. And now, every step he takes ripples across the kingdom. Beneath the academy lies the Sigil Celestial Crystal, a relic older than the kingdom itself. It does not grant power. It exposes it. Those who attempt to bond with it either ascend beyond recognition... or vanish without a trace. The crystal doesn’t choose champions. It dares them. As Emberholt's royal bloodlines fracture, war brews beneath ceremony and silence. The throne is empty, and five ancient families sharpen their knives under the veil of honor. The academy becomes more than a school — it becomes a battlefield. Every duel is political. Every rise in rank a threat. And Sky? He’s the biggest threat of all. Inside the academy, ranks define reality. Magic is measured across fifteen escalating Sigil tiers. Swordsmanship spans twenty brutal levels. Every student fights to rise. Some for honor. Some for vengeance. Some for nothing but survival. But the truth is, power comes at a cost. Friends become rivals. Rivals become corpses. And alliances are broken faster than bones. Behind every lesson is manipulation. Behind every challenge is a test of loyalty. And those who reach the top must face more than enemies. They must face what the academy has become: a machine for war, designed to create weapons in human skin. As Sky rises, shadows close in. Whispers of rebellion. Secrets buried beneath banners. And a throne that demands blood. He doesn’t want it. But destiny doesn’t ask. The Grey Flame doesn’t burn for justice. It burns for conquest. And the Void stands ready. Welcome to Arkanis. Welcome to the fire.
Kaiju8th · 4K Views
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