Somehow, everyone here loves to post things on social media. The most update n0vels are published on novelFɪre.net
Whether it's creatures ranting about their latest enchantment fails or documenting natural disasters, Mythigram is the heartbeat of Mythica, capturing everything from mishaps to magic in real time.
Scrolling through the app, I was bombarded with live feeds of the recent tsunami tearing up the coastlines.
#TsunamiTerror was trending in Mythigram.
It was like every mythical sea creature with a Mythigram account had shown up to "cover" the scene in person, just for those sweet, sweet views.
Sirens, mermaids, and even a water nymph had swum straight into the storm, gleefully documenting the waves crashing down behind them, like it was just another day at the beach.
I winced, my thoughts circling back to OK, my b-boy Kraken friend, who was most likely the cause of all this.
The guy has a big heart… and even bigger tentacles that whip up tsunamis every time he gets in the zone.
It was supposed to be an innocent round of dance practice.
"Didn't expect him to cause an underwater catastrophe," I muttered, shaking my head.
I kept scrolling, hoping for something less ridiculous.
Just then, a live feed caught my eye.
A mermaid was broadcasting from the middle of the flooded coastline, flipping her tail around like it was her backyard while giving play-by-play commentary of the scene.
Her caption read, "Reporting live from the tsunami incident—stay tuned to witness the power of the tides!"
Her voice was chipper as she bobbed in and out of the churning waves, unfazed by the raging waters.
Meanwhile, the comments underneath were… less bright.
"Hope she doesn't drown…" one comment read.
"Did they forget this is a mermaid? The literal creatures of the sea who breathe underwater?" I muttered, rolling my eyes.
Then I scrolled down and spotted something that actually piqued my interest—a live post by a phoenix.
"This should be good," I thought, clicking on it.
On-screen, the phoenix was dramatically perched in its nest, fluffing its feathers with flair as he announced to his audience, "Watch me rise from the ashes… again!"
"Ooooh," I whispered.
This was legendary content—a phoenix rebirth, live!
I leaned in, my hand reaching for popcorn. It wasn't every day that you got to see one of these magnificent creatures go full fireball mode.
The phoenix flared its wings out, glowing like a torch as it ignited itself into a magnificent blaze.
Flames soared up, sparks flying.
Maybe this is a rare, extra-long rebirth event?
Maybe I'm about to witness an ultra-phoenix form?
Then, with a dramatic crackle, it crumbled into ash.
I waited, fully expecting the classic rebirth moment where it rises in a glorious eruption from the embers.
Five minutes, ten minutes… nothing but a small pile of ashes on the screen.
An hour later, I'd gone to the bathroom and back, and the phoenix was still a smudge in the nest.
"Wait, am I being trolled? Does it… need more time?" I refreshed the feed, feeling a bit let down, and glanced at the comments for some clarity.
"Didn't he just do this a month ago?"
"How long does it take, anyone know?"
"I just gifted you flowers, R.I.P."
I facepalmed as it dawned on me.
Phoenixes have terrible short-term memory.
They do this whole dramatic show, but it takes them about a month to rise from the ashes again.
"So… I basically just watched a flaming phoenix nap," I grumbled, scrolling away.
The next feed was even worse.
A protest crowd was amassing by the coastlines. Hordes of creatures were gathered, waving banners and chanting slogans that ranged from mildly disappointed to outright furious.
One banner read, "Kick the Kraken from the Ocean!" Another one—"Say No to Dancing Kraken!"
But the one that stopped me cold was, "I want my Karaoke Set Back!"
It was that chubby Selkie from the evacuation, the one who'd wept over his karaoke machine like it was his firstborn.
I felt my eye twitch, remembering how he'd basically extorted my Mythica credits as "insurance" to buy a new set, and yet here he was, live on Mythigram, claiming to have been robbed.
"Oh, you sneaky seal," I muttered, realizing he'd played me for a fool.
Despite the headache of it all, I couldn't help feeling a twinge of sympathy for OK.
I mean, the poor guy just wanted to dance, not get exiled from the ocean. He probably didn't even know about the growing uproar.
"OK, you're in trouble, dude," I sighed, knowing that the ban might be bigger this time.
Maybe… they'd ban him from ever dancing again.
Just as I was about to put my phone down, I got a notification.
A direct message from none other than OK himself.
OK the Kraken: "Carl, you gotta help me! I heard you work at MECCP. I need protection!"
I stared at the screen, feeling a mix of emotions that ranged from disbelief to a strange kind of determination.
My thumbs hovered over the keyboard as I tried to think of what to say.
OK was technically my friend, and even if his dance moves could single-handedly reshape coastlines, his passion was genuine.
After a pause, I typed back:
Me: "Sure, buddy. I'll talk to the head of the Habitat Program tomorrow morning. I can't promise anything, but I'll try my best."
His reply came instantly, like he'd been waiting on the edge of his seat.
OK the Kraken: "Thank you, Carl! You're the only one who believes in my dream!"
He followed it up with an animated crying octopus emoji, looking pitiful with a tear rolling down one of its massive eyes.
I put my phone down, groaning as I realized the storm of trouble that was brewing.
I already had my hands full with coral conservation projects and trying to find ways to prevent the corals from launching into a full-blown turf war in the future.
Now I was somehow the unofficial representative of a Kraken accused of "Tsunami Terrorism."
It was another long night, and my Mythica notifications didn't let up.
Just as I thought about getting some rest, a new alert pinged on my screen.
It was another live feed, this time from the coast itself.
I tapped on it, only to see rows of Merfolk and various sea creatures glaring at a banner with OK's face on it, crossed out with an angry red X.
Then the camera panned to the one creature I least expected—the chubby Selkie.
He was on a soapbox, passionately rallying the crowd while clutching an old-school microphone.
"It's time we take back our shores! We demand karaoke justice!"
"Of course," I sighed, burying my face in my hands. Just what I needed.
The camera cut back to the protesters as they chanted louder. The scene was chaotic—banners waving, creatures shouting, and my mind was racing with ideas on how to somehow fix this entire mess.
OK was counting on me.
And honestly? Despite the absurdity of it all, I couldn't let him down.
The next morning, I walked into the MECCP office with a resolution—I was going to pitch the craziest plan I'd ever come up with. If I could get them to approve it, maybe, just maybe, I could get OK a license to dance without causing a coastal crisis.
I took a deep breath as I entered the Habitat Program's meeting room.
The head looked up from his stack of paperwork, raising an eyebrow at my determined expression.
"Carl? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Not exactly," I said, swallowing hard. "It's… well, I have an idea. But you might want to sit down for this one."
The head leaned back, curiosity piqued. "Go on."