New Blogs

Check out my two new blogs, both centered around two new book series that I am writing (one with my friend Jason). Hope you like them!

Festral Dominions

The Magnifier

Cruel Snows

The challenge? Write a double spaced fantasy short story in under twenty pages, that was still a better love story than Twilight. Mission Complete.



Cruel Snows
A Short Story by Adam Gonzales


“I can’t forgive my friends for dying; I don’t find these vanishing acts of theirs at all amusing.”
– Logan Pearsall Smith




Ivan Arstaff didn’t understand. Nothing in this world was certain—he had been taught that much—and yet the prophecy foretelling his death was somehow unavoidable. The Wisdoms had assured him that he was meant for greatness and that his passing would save the known world, but that didn’t shake the shadow that he now carried over his head. He was to die, and it would be soon.

The other young mages had also received their Story from the Wisdoms, but Ivan could tell from their faces that theirs were full of hope, life, happiness, and—the thing that Ivan craved the most—normalcy. They smiled and laughed, happily exchanging their Stories with each other, gasping at the occasional reveal of something spectacular, and nodding at the predictable. Ivan wallowed by himself next to one of the stain glass windows of the Grand Hall. He had been explicitly instructed not to share his Story with anyone under any circumstance. So when Morgan Denning rushed up to him breathless and grinning, Ivan’s mood simply dampened.

“Hullo, Van! Did you get your Story yet?”

Ivan crossed his arms and turned off to the side. Morgan was strikingly beautiful. Her dark blond hair flowed down past her shoulders, with a patch of bangs falling over her left eye. The rose color on her cheeks from rushing to see him made the grey of her uncovered eye more vibrant than usual. Ivan noticed that it was also wider than normal, stared fixatedly on him. Leaving her gaze was difficult, but he was eventually able to stare at the blotched colors of the window. “Well?” Morgan said expectantly.

Ivan shrugged.

“Oh, honestly,” she said, making an obvious attempt to gain Ivan’s attention by pouting with her face, “it can’t have been that bad! Come on, Ivan! Tell m—”

Morgan had been stomping around Ivan in a show of disappointment and had, as Ivan had expected, eventually tripped over her mage robes. She made a loud thump as she fell flat on one of the Grand Hall’s dining rugs and Ivan couldn’t help but leak a smile, despite his predicament. As beautiful as she was, Ivan knew full well the reason she wasn’t taken. Not a moment went by without Morgan tripping, falling, or even setting something ablaze with a miss-worded spell. Morgan was the Academy’s greatest klutz. But Ivan couldn’t help but like her.

“You okay?”

A muffled sound came from Morgan, her face still planted against the rug.

“What?”

She stood up and brushed her robes. Her face was knotted in a grimace. “Yes, if you must know!”

Ivan snorted and did his best to ignore her by glancing around the different groups within the Hall. It didn’t take long for Morgan to pop up in front of him, inches away from his face. Ivan jumped back, yelping as some of his untidy brown hair fell in front of his eyes. Morgan giggled. “Tell me Ivan! Please? If you don’t,” she said, her face darkening, “then I will never let you rest.”

“I can’t.”

Morgan raised her left eyebrow. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Means I can’t,” Ivan mumbled.

Morgan stared at him for a minute, and Ivan could tell she was trying to figure out whether or not he was being honest with her. It wouldn’t matter: Ivan knew she would continue to pester him regardless. After a moment, she decided to pull away.

“Well! If you’re going to be that way, I guess I won’t tell you what my Story said!”

Again, Ivan shrugged.

He could tell he was frustrating her. If he was completely honest, he actually enjoyed doing it. She was easy to annoy, and for some reason she seemed pretty even when she was flustered—terrifying, but beautiful. Ivan liked to test his limits and see how far he could get without getting completely in trouble with her.

She waited, tapping her foot impatiently while Ivan leaned against the window, acting as indifferent as possible. Eventually she broke.

“I’ll tell you anyway,” she said excitedly. “Do you know the Chosen in the histories?”

Of course he did; everyone did. The Chosen was to save the world from a great and powerful Darkness. They were supposed to end all suffering, bring eternal peace, and do it all by a grand and mysterious means. He had only found out, during his own Story, that those means were through death.

Ivan was to be the Chosen.

Morgan hadn’t seemed to notice Ivan’s contemplative mood. She was still ogling him eagerly, her hands now clasped around his own. Her eyes were wide, and she bore a large grin. Ivan sighed and nodded.

“I’m to aid the Chosen as they overcome the Darkness! Me, Ivan! Can you believe it?”

Ivan wasn’t sure how to answer. He gulped nervously, wondering if this meant he was allowed to tell Morgan of his own Story. After a time, he decided against it; even if he was able, he wasn’t sure that he would want her to know. Not yet.

Morgan had taken Ivan’s pause for insult. She crossed her arms, pouting. “You don’t believe me.”

“Of course I do,” Ivan said, swiftly recovering. “That’s amazing Morg! I can’t believe it!”

“I know! I’m so excited! The Wisdoms tell me it’s to happen soon! And,” she added quickly, “don’t call me Morg. It makes me feel old. Or that I’m a house for dead people.”

Ivan smiled truly, for the first time since his Story. He was glad that Morgan would be there to help him. And he couldn’t help but feel a little twinge of hope that everything would be okay, even if he knew that it ultimately wouldn’t. It made him feel slightly guilty, but the feelings quickly passed as Morgan locked him in a hug. She smelled of strawberries.

“Whatever your Story is, Ivan, I know that it’ll end happy. You don’t have to worry.”

“I know,” he lied. For her sake, he tried to convince himself.

There was a loud chime as the Academy’s bell rang for the mages’ attention. The Wisdoms had gathered at the front of the Grand Hall and were demanding the attendance of the Academy mages. Ivan stepped forward in his sky blue and maroon robes, while Morgan followed in her green and grey. The group of fifty seven newly Storied mages gathered around the podium that the Wisdoms had placed themselves on. Morgan gripped Ivan’s right arm and shook slightly in anticipation. Ivan swore she was about to squeal from suspense before the Wisdoms finally called for silence. The tallest of the seven, a man dressed in orange and brown, cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“On behalf of the Wisdoms of this, the Grandfire Academy of Spells and Magicks, I, Ovanhoff Tellsword, would like to congratulate you on receiving your Stories for your day of commencement!”

The crowd cheered. Morgan whooped. Ivan rolled his eyes.

“Before dismissing you to your new lives—to your Stories, as it were—we leave you with a warning.”

Silence flooded the crowd.

“Your Stories come from the Well of the Earth. There is no disputing their truths. Doing so will only result in great calamity. Do not test fate.” The Wisdom’s eyes swept the room, and made noticeable pause on Ivan.

“And with that,” Tellsword continued, his voice booming, “we bid you farewell!”

The crowd cheered once again, all warnings given by the Wisdoms fading away into the exhilaration of their graduation. Morgan hugged him again, and then pulled him away with the crowd as they piled out the Grand Hall and into the bright light of day.



Five years had passed since Ivan had heard his Story. Five years living a bland life doing the same routine day in and out: wake up before dawn, visit the Wisdoms for his daily counsel, prayer study, history study, work at the mill for money, more prayer study, and the ever frequent visit from Morgan before sleep. Five years and he was still alive. And yet he felt dead.

His Story hadn’t exactly told him how long it was until his duties as the Chosen would come into play, but it had told him that it would be soon. Soon was apparently relative, as Morgan continued to remind him.

“I don’t understand, Van! The Wisdoms told me I was to help the Chosen! But nothing has happened these last five years! ‘Twill happen in few moons time,’ my arse! Ugh!”

“I’m sure it’ll happen soon,” Ivan would reply. “You’ll get your crazy adventure in time.”

Days would pass with little incident, aside from the occasional attempted escapade from Morgan, who claimed that ‘thrill sought thrill’ and that, maybe, the Chosen hadn’t revealed themselves because she hadn’t been daring enough. Ivan would force a smile, consoling her by reminding her that the Chosen’s duty was to stop danger, not seek it.

“Well that’s no fun,” Morgan retorted one afternoon. “I’m sure the Chosen’s life is full of excitement and daring! They are the Chosen, after all! You’re just saying otherwise because you don’t do the same!”

Ivan rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. His recent meetings with the Wisdoms had been focused around the physical attributes of the Chosen—which meant they had been focused on setting Ivan against traps, perils, danger, and dark magicks. Only the other day, Ivan had been smashed in the face by a large rock aimed to knock him off a two story plank of wood. Luckily he had passed it off as a clumsy trip to Morgan. He still wasn’t sure if she bought it; the scars were adding up, and there was only so much his sky robes could cover.

“Besides,” Morgan continued, leaning closer in to him and whispering, “there’s something exciting I never told you about my Story!”

Ivan raised his brow inquisitively. Morgan liked to talk, and it came as a surprise to Ivan that she had kept something from him about her Story for this long. Especially if it was as interesting as Morgan was implying. “Really now?”

“Mmmhmm!” Morgan nodded eagerly, and scooted in closer to Ivan on the red bench they were sitting on outside Ivan’s house. She stared at Ivan, eyes wide.

Ivan sniffed. “Well?”

Smiling largely, Morgan let out a soft squeal as she started to speak. “The Wisdoms told me that the Chosen—the Chosen, Ivan—would love me!”

Ivan coughed suddenly. “Wh-what?”

“That’s right,” Morgan replied, obviously gaining momentum, “the Chosen! Love me! That’s why I need to be more daring,” she finished in a deep voice, placing her fists on her hips and doing her best to appear imposing.

His eyes staring off to the side, Ivan tried to sound as unfazed as possible. “So,” he started, making sure to keep his eyes just outside her gaze, “did they say that you’d love him back?”

There was a long pause, and Ivan was sure that he’d said the wrong thing until he finally looked Morgan in the eye. A huge smirk was plastered across her face. “Is someone jealous, Van?”

Ivan did what he could to not seem flustered, but did so failingly. “Well, no. I mean, not really. Maybe. Just a little.”

Damn, he thought, I’m jealous of myself!

Morgan snickered and leaned back from Ivan. “Oh, don’t worry, Van! I’m sure you’ll find someone eventually. You just need to get out more. She’s there, you’ll see.”

 “Right,” Ivan said. She still didn’t answer my question, the sly devil.

He started lazily swirling a funnel of ice in his left hand; cold magick was his specialty. Morgan cocked her head to the side, her expression puzzled.

“Did I say something wrong, Van?”

“Huh? No. Just thinking.”

“About?”

Ivan sighed. He didn’t really want to talk about it, but he knew that Morgan wouldn’t leave him be unless he talked. He liked that about her. “It’s just, these Stories. They feel like a trap sometimes. I don’t like them.”

“Because the Chosen ends up loving me?”

“What?” Ivan’s ice dissipated. “No! I meant what we’re doing now. It’s like we’re barely living, keeping ourselves active just long enough for our Stories to take control. I mean, some people’s Stories are this life! Doing nothing but menial labor the rest of their lives, too scared to travel and sightsee, because that would be ‘tempting fate’.”

Morgan nodded slowly. “Are you okay, Ivan? You never did tell me your Story. Is everything alright?”

“I don’t like my Story, Morgan.”

“I couldn’t tell.” Morgan couldn’t help but slip in a small bit of sarcasm in tried times. Ivan knew it helped her cope.

“I wish I could talk about it.”

“Then why can’t you? Come one, Van! Tell me!”

Ivan grew stern. “You know that I can’t, Morgan. We’ve been over this. The Wisdoms forbade it.”

“Just like they forbade you from telling me why you need to see them every day?”

There was a long time where Ivan didn’t reply. She had pestered him about his visits to the Wisdoms for the last five years. And though they didn’t explicitly say that he couldn’t tell anyone about his meetings, he knew any information would give away the origins of his Story. So he hadn’t told Morgan.

“Now, see? This is why I have such a difficult time keeping things from you. You’re too good at prying things out of me.”

Morgan perked up. “So does that mean you’re going to tell me?”

Ivan couldn’t help but grin. “No.” Morgan crossed her arms, pouting. “But I will. And soon, I think.”

 Even with her sour mood, and her bangs hiding half of her features, Ivan could swear that he saw the hint of a victorious smile on Morgan’s face.



Less than two weeks later it happened. At first no one was scared, just confused. When everyone had woken up that morning it was still dark outside.

Pitch black.

There was no light to be seen from the sun at all and, outside of light produced by magick, all other forms of illumination were small and timid, muted by the blackness. Ivan knew immediately that it was the Darkness. He knew that he was supposed to stop whatever threat was produced. And he knew that he was to die.

Panic flooded through him, and the town seemed to reflect his fears as cries rang out in the dark. It didn’t take long, however, for Morgan to find her way to him by light of a bulbous flame she had produced in front of her to guide her way. She rushed forward, almost pressing the ball of blue flame into Ivan as she chirped with relief at him being alright.

“What’s going on, Van? I found one of the Wisdoms and they told me to look for you. Do you know what’s happening?”

“Listen, Morgan, I—”

A splash of green light split across the sky and outlined a massive humanoid form that loomed over the town. Loud cracks of sound pierced the shadows, and caused Morgan to quiver and lose her footing. Ivan grabbed her before she fell, and pulled her in close as two colossal and narrow green eyes formed at the face of the creature. Ivan was able to make out a vicious toothy grin from the light of the glowing eyes.

“Ivan! What is that, what’s going on? I—”

“Morgan,” Ivan said, grabbing her by the shoulders and staring her in the face, the light of the flame hovering over her shoulder giving him enough illumination to make out the terror on her face. “I need you to listen to me. I’m going to need your help.”

Morgan shook a little, biting her lip. “Ivan, what do you mean?”

Another deafening crack of sound reverberated through the sky as the demon fired a pulse of energy at the Academy, shattering it into thousands of stone pieces. The town was in riot, many fleeing to find what shelter they could, some—the mages—standing ground and attempting to harm the being with magick. Nothing worked.

“Ivan?” Morgan’s eyes were wide and glossy with fear.

“That creature is the Darkness, Morgan. And I’m going to kill it.”

Somehow, despite the screams, shouts, and cracks of sound around them, everything seemed to grow quiet and still. Ivan was surprised to see that, somehow, Morgan’s eyes had grown even wider. “What are you talking about, Ivan? If this is the darkness, we need to wait for the Chosen! He will come!”

Ivan shook his head and lead Morgan away from the fighting, pulling her behind his cottage. He lifted her hair over her ear so the he could see her face more clearly in the light of the fire. “There’s no need to wait for him Morgan! Didn’t you find it odd that your Story had you stay here, in our hometown, even though you were supposed to help the Chosen? Mine had me do the same, Morgan! It’s because our Stories knew that the Darkness would emerge here; because the Chosen was already here!”

“But Ivan—”

“Morgan. I’m the Chosen.”

Morgan gasped, the fire over her shoulder evaporating. Loud booms echoed through the blackness and Ivan did his best to ignore the shock on Morgan’s face. He needed to be bold now, more than ever. He almost found it funny how their roles swapped now that danger was upon them. He had to be the strong one for once.

“Listen to me, Morgan. I’m not completely sure what I’m supposed to do,” he lied. I need to die to save these people—to save Morgan, he reminded himself. “But I know that I’m going to need your help. It’s in your Story. I need you to stay close to me, and make sure that we can see where we’re going. Understood?”

Morgan nodded, her lips locked in a tight frown. Her hair had once again fallen over her left eye. With a snap of her fingers two bright balls of fire materialized over their shoulders. Ivan gave Morgan a sharp nod of appreciation, and then pulled her arm as he led her to the town’s old bell tower. They pressed forward, doing their best not to watch their fellow mages being smashed or disintegrated under the power and influence of the Darkness. It took them nearly seven minutes to get to the tower in the pitch black. When they finally did get there, Morgan was close to tears. Ivan pushed open the large oak door and rushed inside.

“Ivan?” she whispered under the glow of her fire.

Ivan scanned the tower’s entrance chamber, trying to make out where the staircase was. “Hmmm?” he asked absently.

“I—I know this isn’t the time, but I don’t think we’re going to… Well…”

A door stood at the far right corner of the chamber. Ivan could barely make it out. “Quick, Morgan. This way.”

He yanked on Morgan’s arm, attempting to lead her to the stairwell, but Morgan stopped him short. Ivan glared at her. “Morgan, we need to move.”

“Wait. Please.”

Ivan paused, a green flash from outside casting eerie shadows in the bell tower. “What?”

“Do you love me?”

There were a thousand words that Ivan wanted to say, but it would have been impossible to get them out at that moment. He pulled slightly harder on her arm. “Morgan,” he said firmly, “we need to go. Now.” The color drained from her face, Morgan allowed Ivan to direct her up the stairwell until they reached the top of the tower.

The first thing Ivan noticed when the stepped out was how cold it was. It was funny, after spending years manipulating ice he had never felt truly cold until now.

Maybe it’s because I know I’m going to die, he thought.

The Darkness stood menacing over the town, northeast of the bell tower. Ivan’s stomach lurched as he watch it raise its large claw and swipe a building to shambles—he could barely make out the small bursts of energy striking the Darkness from the ground below. It was almost time.

Something warm touched his forearm. He turned and saw Morgan giving him a resolute stare. Her eyes were wet from tears, and her face chilled white from the cold. “Ivan?”

Ivan sighed, closing his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he opened them again, and Morgan uttered a squeak of astonishment. Ivan’s deep brown eyes had turned icy blue, and it was clear that the air around him had dropped in temperature dramatically. Then, with a devious smirk, he lifted up his right hand, never looking away from Morgan.

A massive blast of blue ice erupted from Ivan’s hand, traveling at enormous speeds towards the Darkness. It struck the Darkness’ side, causing it to visibly stumble and raise a deafening cry of pain that resounded through the town. Ivan pulled his hand down and grinned.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Morgan asked, dumbfounded.

“What do you think I’ve been doing this whole time with the Wisdoms?”

Morgan issued a small smile and sniffed in the cold. Then she gasped.

Ivan already knew what was going to happen. He knew because he wasn’t dead. The strike against the Darkness was only a way to get its attention. But when Ivan turned around to face it, he knew immediately that he wasn’t prepared.

The Darkness was far larger up close. Its arms were gigantic pillars of darkness, with coiling tendrils at their ends in place of fingers. Hundreds of black spikes of shadow jutted out all around its body, demanding fear and terror. But the face was truly the most horrific visage Ivan had ever seen. The green eyes were narrow and slanted, lighting up a thin and abnormally elongated mouth filled with millions of sharp white teeth. Its bat-like snout filled the void between eyes and mouth, and glowed a deep green from the inside. Morgan gasped beside him, reminding him that he had something left to fight for.

The Darkness raised one of its deep black arms, and swiped at the tower’s top. Ivan sprayed the ground with ice in response, quickly pushing Morgan aside so that she slid safely out of reach across the frosted floor as the roof and bell collapsed, falling off the tower at an angle. The side of the bell clipped Ivan’s right hand as it fell, shattering three of his fingers. He blinked in surprise. It didn’t hurt.

His pause caused him a slash across his face as one of the Darkness’ spikes cut open his forehead while it pulled its arm back. Blood seeped down his head, some of if getting in his eyes. He heard Morgan yell in fright, and stopped himself from staggering too much as he turned to face his enemy.

More blood dripped down his face.

Then it hit him. He knew exactly what he needed to do. He waited for the Darkness to swing at him again, making sure to duck and roll as the arm came for him. He shot shards of ice at the arms, doing his best to stall the beast as he made his way over to Morgan. He stumbled forward, aiming a particularly heavy blast of cold at the Darkness, engulfing the entire area around them in a violent torrent of cruel snow. He did his best to keep it all away from Morgan.

“Are you okay,” he yelled over the howl of ice.

Morgan nodded stiffly.

“I need you to do something for me, Morg!”

He gave a small laugh as he watched her face twitch at the name. He knew she would get annoyed, but he needed to make sure she was fine enough to at least acknowledge the jab. Again, she nodded.

“You’re not going to like it!”

Ivan was losing his energy fast. The storm was keeping the Darkness form getting to them, causing it to screech and hiss in pain, but Ivan knew it wouldn’t last. The only thing strong enough to kill such an evil lay within the power of what the Wisdoms had called Holy Song. He did his best to explain to Morgan that Holy Song was performed with fire and blood; blood that could only be given willingly for sacrifice by death. She was to use his blood.

“Ivan, no!”

“Listen, Morgan! This is my purpose! This is why I was born! I was always meant to die; that was my Story! That is why I never told you!”

“Ivan, please! Don’t do this! You—”

“And this is your Story, too, Morgan! To help the Chosen defeat the Darkness! This is how! You need to do this! Trust me!”

The storm was beginning to wither, and Ivan was able to hear Morgan’s sobs above the wind. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close. “Morgan, it’s going to be alright!”

Tears were streaming down Morgan’s face. She was trying so hard, Ivan knew, to smile. “Do you love me Ivan,” she yelled.

Ivan turned over his shoulder. The Darkness was starting to gain its strength. When he turned back, blood had poured down the left side of his face, a small rivulet streaming across his eye. “Do you remember what the Wisdoms told us five years ago?”

Morgan sniffed and nodded.

“What does your Story tell you, Morgan?”

“That I am to help the Chosen, and that he will love me.”

“Well, I’d listen to the Wisdoms when it comes to their talk about our Stories. ’There is no disputing their truths. Doing so will only result in great calamity. Do not test fate.’”

Morgan smiled.

The snow faded.

Turning swiftly on his heel, Ivan stood against the Darkness. It was staggering, and grabbed the side of the bell tower, splitting the stone wall and causing a jagged edge to fall at Ivan’s feet. Picking it up, he turned to Morgan and gave her a wan smile. Then in one swift motion, his slashed the stone across his chest.

Morgan yelled something and began to sob as Ivan fell against the stone floor. She covered her mouth and was about to rush to him, when the low rumbling of the Darkness brought her attention back to reality. Still crying, she shot a menacing glare at the Darkness and began to perform her Holy Song.

Ivan’s vision was fading fast, but he was still able to watch in blurred distortion as Morgan performed her magick. When it came to anything else: walking, running, or even performing other magicks, Morgan was incredibly clumsy. But when it came to using fire magick, Morgan simply danced. Ivan watched her twirl flames around her body as his own blood seeped from his chest and into the deep red of the flames. He watched in a somewhat selfish pride as she sent waves of inferno against the fading Darkness. Blood and fire churned about her, moving in long arcs and streams as they continued to bash against the great evil. Her face was severe and firm, anger and determination flooding it, despite the tears flowing down her face.

For her, Ivan thought, I could do it. For her, I could die.

Then, with his last breath, at the instant that the Darkness billowed away into the bright light of the sun, he spoke his final whisper.

“I love you, Morgan.”

And, even against the bright sun, he could’ve sworn he saw her smile.


END