I'm building an incredibly detailed fantasy world, think LOTR or ASOIAF but even more dense in history, politics, and lore, meant to eventually host multiple series. It's heavily inspired by real history, myths, and legends, which means research on every front: politics, warfare, religion, culture, geography, you name it.

I work full time, and I'm also a student, so time is tight. I refuse to simplify the world to make it more "manageable," but right now, I'm stuck in a research loop. I keep researching and researching, but I haven't written a single scene, plot outline, or even fleshed-out character, partly because so many worldbuilding variables are still undecided.

What can I do to actually get started to working on the core elements of writing/my book without having over 90% of the information I still need to still research.

I'm fairly new around here, but I'm sensing something strange. I have been reading a lot of first chapters and trying to give feedback, and these present-tense examples keep appearing. Half of the first chapters I have read are in present tense, and I find it extremely weird. I don't recall a single fantasy novel I have read in present tense. I'm not a voracious reader, but I have read my fair share.

Why do you think there is this tendency lurking around here? I would guess that we, as potential new authors, try to mimic things we have read; however, there isn't much present tense in the mainstream.

Do they think it's easier?

Do they fool themselves thinking it conveys a faster pace or more urgency?

I'm curious to read your thoughts on this

I would appreciate general advice. I’m far from it but I am trying to write my first book. I’m 40 pages in and really enjoying writing from different POV’s. For the prologue, I would love any feedback on magic system displayed or writing style to try and critique and perfect my style as I write the rest of the book.
Appreciate your time reading if you do, and any advice you have!

Into the Shadows Prologue

No one will believe you.

Those were the last words Helain heard from the shadows. Standing guard outside the only daughter to her House Lord, she began to look around. She was on guard until the morning, her only companion was watching the flames flicker across the stone wall. She loved to watch them, imagining that each flicker was a little dancing spirit. 

The flames would typically dance along the wall, reaching up to the ceiling, dancing on the House banner, and even sometimes towards her. But tonight was different. The flames that usually brought her warmth through the night, felt colder than usual. Even though they were lit the same, the hall felt darker. 

She perked up, maybe the dancing spirits were talking to her. Her younger siblings would be so excited to hear about this in the morning. 

“Hello, fire spirits,” she whispered into the hallway. “Name is Helain, nice to meet ya.” She looked around waiting for a response from the flames. Her only response was the flames starting to dance slower. Maybe I’ve scared them all off? She wondered, as she sat back down in her guards chair. 

Hello there Little one

“Who is there?” Helain yelled down the hall, knowing others would hear and see that she was going crazy. Her only response was a laugh that sounded like it came from the shadows. 

No one will believe you

The temperature dropped dramatically as the shadows from the fire drew closer to her. At the furthest torch, two figures began to appear out of the shadows. Black smoke swirled from the shadows of the torch. 

“Think she will faint, Vyne?” The stocky guy asks, looking at the shorter girl on his left. 

“If she doesn’t, I’ll make her” Vyne retorts disappearing back into the shadows. 

She raises her sword. “Stay back!” Helain shouts down the hallway. 

The girl, Vyne, reappears a few feet from Helain. She strikes forward, feeling the sword connect with flesh. Vyne yelps, blood pouring from her face. “She cut me!” Vyne looks toward the other guy. He takes one step forward, black mist forming at his feet. “No!” Vyne licks her lips, the gash still bleeding from her mouth to her ear. “She is mine.” Vyne spits blood to her right, reaching her left arm out. Black mist started rolling down her arm. A short sword formed immediately in her hand, frost forming around Vyne’s wound. Helain takes a deep breath, now visible in the cold hallway. She prepares for Vyne to strike, leveling her sword again. Vyne takes the torch off the wall and tosses it at Helain. 

“You will not have her!” Helain starts to run at Vyne, hoping that someone will come to her aid. Vyne turns and runs back down the hall. Black mist forms out of the shadows again as Vyne jumps at the wall underneath a torch. Instead of running into the wall, she disappeared. 

Helain feels a stabbing pain in her back. Looking down, she sees a black sword coming through her stomach. “Leave her Vyne.” The man said, walking down the hallway. “We have to leave one survivor.”
“Always taking my fun away Kai.”
Helain fell to the floor gasping for air, holding pressure on her wound. She watched as they took the key off the belt and opened the door.

Sylph stood in the doorway. Small dagger in hand, looking as intimidating as she could. The two stepped towards her without fear. Vyne and Kai stepped forward, standing in the torch’s shadow Vyne threw on the ground. They quickly disarmed the young girl. 

Vyne grabbed her by the arm and disappeared, Kai leaving a second later. Helain hoped this was all a nightmare, but the pain in her side told her it was real

Currently writing a story that draws heavy inspiration from Roman Catholic lore, but twisted into a horror/fantasy setting. For the longest time, I had this vision that I'd like my MMC to have his pet name for the FMC be "Angel" (it holds endearing and plot-point value), but now I'm feeling like that might be overused (i.e. The Woven Kingdom, All Rhodes Lead Here, etc). I have thought about ripping the Band-Aid and continuing with that pet name, but should I just move on to something else? It gets muddy in my head when I think about using names/tropes that are important to me from a religious perspective (like the name Cain and Abel) but just happen to be overused by writers. I was also considering something like "lamb". What's most important to me is the weight a name (or nickname) like my FMC's could hold for Catholics.

Context:

FMC is born into a crime syndicate family. Grows up, learns the trade, gains the nickname "The Angel of (Syndicate Name)." Later, she is recruited into a team of elite soldiers who are tasked with "handling the demons that are plaguing the world". MMC begins to call the FMC "Angel" in a derogatory manner, but later in an endearing manner.

I've been deliberating the technological level of the place my story is set in for a while now. Originally I wanted it to just be regular steam-based technology (like what would have been available ~1750 in our world, just in a fantasy setting), but now I've decided that it'd be really fitting for one of my POV characters to have an advanced prosthetic hand (because it makes sense thematically and is also just cool as shit). Obviously that is far out of the realm of what's possible with steam-based technology in out world, so I've been toying with the idea of leaning a bit more into steampunk. It'd also make sense for steam-technology to advance in my setting beyond what it did in out world since it's set in a very isolated place with limited resources, so properly making use of electricity would probably not be possible, so leaning harder into steampunk does come pretty naturally to my setting.

But now my dilemma is that I don't want to lean too hard into the usual steampunk aesthetic and I also don't want it to be too high tech. More along the lines of "there is advanced steam-based technology, but mass producing anything that's a lot crazier than our world is impossible". I just fear that, just in terms of the setting, it'll come out feeling like a half-baked steampunk story that neither appeals to steampunk fans nor fantasy fans.

Do you have any tips for writing settings that have a more subtle/low-key implementation of their fantastical elements? Settings where the fantastical things don't immediately jump out at you and hit you in the face, but whenever you do catch a glimpse of them it's absolutely awesome. And, ideally, do you have any recommendations for novels that do this sort of thing really well? After all, reading a good novel that fits what I want to do will probably be the best teacher.

I've been working on my book for a couple of months, mainly developing characters and the concepts I want to include in the story itself, but as every time I get a concept or an idea, it's so hard for me to plot it and make it make sense, so I'd really appreciate any ideas on how I can keep my idea going, or if any concept would fit in my original idea.

Basically there's this world in which there was a huge war and therefore humanity got divided into four kingdoms, each one representing an element (water, earth...). My original idea revolved around those elements being all part of the same god (I'd like to keep it just one god), so when humanity decided to create said kingdoms they separated the object that keeps the god connected with the world. I'd appreciate ideas for the object, I've thought about a crystal ball or a huge sculpture in which one kingdom takes care of the head, the other has the arms...

My main characters are the royal families from the kingdoms. My problem lies in the fact that I don't know how to keep the story going when different deaths or meteorological phenomena start happening. Like, how can they fix a god dying? Especially because I don't like humanizing gods, I find difficult that humans could interfere in that. I thought about the God being able to "transfer" parts of its life to different people, so four chosen people would have each an element power, meaning all of them would have the same essence after all. But, what when that happens? Should they fusion in that one god? Could they take control and try to destroy the sculpture of said god?

So in summary, I struggle with what could happen after they realize the god that keeps them all alive is dying. I've thought about including magical creatures such as dragons or a phoenix, even a magic system, but if I include it I'd want it to be a bit more selective with the people that actually have powers. I hope I explained myself well enough, given that I wanted to keep it short and English isn't my first language. Any ideas are welcomed, thank you in advance!

I'm writing a story where a Common Tongue has taken root, but it's only a few centuries old, so certain titles and phrases still linger from other languages. I know this is becoming more common with authors using french, german, arabic, etc. in their writing, but I was hoping to get feedback on an example to see if I'm making a mistake conceptually. Or if I might offend folks in the way I'm adapting some terms. In MOST cases, I'm using the exact spelling and translation of the realworld term or phrase. But I was hoping to "invent" a few as well, using the language as a base. We make up new words, phrases, and slang all the time, so I figured...why couldn't they?

The example -- in Japanese, there is a short-form philosophy called the Dokkōdō (The Path of Aloneness, or The Way to Go Forth Alone) written by the swordsman Miyamoto Musashi. The kanji roots/translations [Doku 独 (alone/single/ independent), Kō 行 (to go/walk), and Dō 道 (the way/path)], each give the phrase its meaning, but as you can see, there are multiple ways to interpret it theoretically.

The idea of "Aloneness" isn't true to the philosophy. It's more about self-reliance and commitment to your path. But more to the point, many of Miyamoto's precepts don't align with the worldviews in the story I'm writing (only some do). Self-reliance can be great at times, but as proven by posts like this, sometimes we need help, and that's okay too. To that end, I was planning to cut some precepts while adding others that better reflect the world. And I was hoping to adapt it with a new name.

Ichíkōdō - The One Path, The Single Path, The Way (still written by a fictional Miyamoto to pay homage to the inspiration). The LITERAL translation would be something closer to "One-way Path/Street", but I was hoping there would be flexibility for interpretation, given it's a different world.

I want to be respectful, so again, most terms/translations would appear exactly as they do in our realworld languages. However, intentions only get you so far, and I don't wish to offend. I also don't wish for something like this to break the story's credibility.

Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. I plan to get expert review on other translations, but I was curious what the community thought on the approach in general. It's not too late to take the Herbert approach and just reinterpret Dokkōdō as "The Way" (ex. "Lisan al-Gaib" was adapted to "Voice from the Outer World" even though that's not the literal arabic translation, which is closer to Tongue of the Unseen, or Voice of the Unknown).

How do y'all feel about shapeshifters transforming into animals without a human or humanoid top half, but they can still speak human? I just realized i never once thought about if they could do that in my story until today.

Up until today i didn't have a reason for them to talk or not talk in animal form. I would just write they are fighting and then turn back into a human. Example should a weredragon or animal shifter talk in animal form?

Note: yes i know biologically animals (except for parrots and such) could never use human speech because their vocal cords aren't set up like that, but my story just like yallz are magical. So what do yall think? Yay or nay.

I have tried.

I would love to have some feedback on pacing. I have tried slowing it down, but I would like to kow if anyone else feels like the pacing is too fast, or if the amount of reveals is too close together. This is a supernatural fantasy (wow, I did not realize this chapter was that long). For reference, the story starts with Dupree doing normal work stuff. He goes to a bar and ends up running from a debt collector named Charlie, and his right hand man, Krieg. After Dupree runs, he injures himself and Charlie finds him in an alleyway. At this point, we realize Dupree and Charlie are a little more familiar with each other than first thought. Charlie and Krieg bring Dupree to an animal hospital to get patched up. The girl working at the animal hospital is Luce, Charlies daughter. There is some tension, and she is mad at Charlie, blaming him for allowing Dupree to get into debt with a bad guy named Shay, she also admonishes Krieg (who is hurt by her admonishment). Charlie pretty much works for Shay, but they are also rivals. Chapter 3 starts with Krieg exiting the animal hospital to catch up with Charlie.

Chapter 3:

Krieg stepped outside. He looked up. Dark clouds churned over the city. The winds shifted sharply, stinging the side of his face.
Shay!
Across the street, Charlie stood on the curb, cane planted hard against the pavement. He was talking to the one man he reviled most in this world. 
Sheamus “Shay” Mallone.
There, another figure stood behind Shay.
Lisa… His face twitched.
Charlie seemed more tense than normal. His face was tight, and his hand clenched his cane. Krieg stepped forward to hear the conversations.
“I’m done here Charlie,” Shay said. “I’m leaving this gutter of a city for good.”
“And?” Charlie replied. “Should I send you a postcard?”
Shay cracked a chuckle, but was clearly annoyed with Charlie's insolence. 
“Do you know why I came here, Charlie?”
Boom. 
The sky flashed, and the air vibrated.
Shay’s eyes lifted to the dark swirl of clouds above. Lisa's head followed just the same.
Krieg looked up. What are they looking at?
Charlie’s eyes flashed up for a brief moment and then back to Shay.
“I came here for a simple mission,” Shay continued. “A dull one. Pointless, really. Watch. Wait. Keep the people under the suppression of my thumb, but you–you resisted me at every turn.”
“The point?”
“The point?” Shay repeated with clenched teeth. He huffed, hidden by a laugh and shook his finger at Charlie. “The point is. I don’t need this place anymore.”
“See,” Shay looked at his hands. His eyes grew wide. “I found something, Charlie…
“Something old,” he said. “Older than this city. Older than Hell’s little war.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “Something that can bring heaven to its knees.” 
The wind whistled through the streets.
Charlie’s cane scraped against the pavement.
Shay’s eyes brightened with terrible excitement. “Why waste my eternity ruling alleys and rats when I can kill God himself?”
Krieg gulped hard. K-kill God?
Charlie's eyes constricted briefly, but he always kept his composure. “Don’t care bout’ your holy war,” Charlie said. “Long as you leave my city be.”
Shay cast a genuine smile that crossed his whole face. “Your city? Right, Before I leave, I wanted to clean up a few–loose ends…”
Charlie clenched his cane, but said nothing.
They both stared at each other.
Shay looked at the animal hospital. “You’ve kept those kids of yours safe for so long.” He cocked his head to the side. “But why the boy? It’s not like he’s blood.”
“Ain’t gotta be blood to be family.” 
Charlie’s statement was simple, but Krieg felt it to the depths of his soul. He nearly shed a tear. That’s right, this whole city is like family to Charlie…
Shay stared hard at the animal hospital across the street. “That’s cute,” he said with a dismissive tone.
Charlie clenched his jaw. “Tread carefully Shay,” he said through gritted teeth.
Shay looked back to Charlie. “This time, Charlie, I’ll make that scar even bigger, and gut those fucking brats of yours.”
“Krieg!” Charlie yelled as he reared back and swung his cane strong and hard.
It connected with Shay’s face. The cane glowed, it was as if rune symbols had been etched upon it. When it connected, Shay’s face sizzled and smoke wafted. In that same moment, a force of energy from the top ornament burst out. Lisa's body was slammed back into the brick building, cracking the bricks with her body.
“Keep her safe!” Charlie commanded quickly then turned to face Lisa as she gathered herself. Meanwhile, Shay regained his balance. They attacked simultaneously. 
Krieg felt his body jump to action to help Charlie, but he stopped himself. He looked back at the animal hospital. 
Luce…
As he turned back to the animal hospital, he saw Charlie swing forth another attack from his cane out the corner of his eye.

* * *

Dupree slowly stood up off the table. Luce put her arm around him to help him up so as not to tear the newly inserted stitches. Her hair fell across his face.
He could smell the faint sweet strawberry of her shampoo, still clinging to life even after a full day's work. 
Ahh, he thought, still a kid at heart, using the same old children’s shampoo.
He subtly cleared his throat and shifted his face away from hers. 
Don’t be creepy Dupree, he said to himself. You lost your chance years ago.
His eyes shifted, like a teenager trying to sneak a look at a high school crush. To his shock, eyes were locked on him. Their eyes met for a moment before both shying away. 
Bang, ding-ding.
Dupree heard the front door of the animal hospital burst open followed by the chime of the bell. Krieg came rushing into the back. 
“Lu–” he paused for a brief moment when he saw Luce holding Dupree.
Dupree and Luce quickly seperated as though they got caught doing something wrong.
“Luce,” Krieg continued as if he saw nothing. “You have to get out of here.” His voice was urgent. He pointed to the back entrance. “Go that way, take the back alleys and hide if you have to!”
“Wait Krieg,” Luce said. “What’s this all abou–” 
“Dupree, get her the hell out of here. Now.” At this point, Krieg's voice was a command, but Dupree could hear the faint shudder in his voice.
He’s serious, Dupree thought. Something’s very wrong.
“Krie–” Dupree grabbed Luce by the arm before she could finish calling Krieg’s name.
“C’mon Luce.”
She looked at him in shock, but slowly decided to give in. Just as she started to turn and follow Dupree, they all heard the ding of a bell. It was the front door.
“K-rii-eeeg.” An unsettling female voice called out, almost singing his name.
Krieg, reached into his vest pockets and pulled out brass knuckles.
What are those symbols? Dupree asked himself as Krieg slid the knuckles onto his hands. Etched at the tip of the knuckles were strange rune symbols.
Dupree’s eyes went wide as the woman stalked into the back room with them. “Lisa?!”
“Huh?” Lisa’s face tilted. “Oh! Dupree. What a small, tiny–” her face distorted into the grotesque vision Dupree had of her earlier in the night– “world.”
His face fell. What is this sinking feeling in my heart?
Lisa squinted her eyes, dissecting Dupree. “Hmm, what’s the matter, Dupree? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?"
Dupree stepped back with wide eyes. He struggled to breathe. “You–your face…”
Krieg’s eyes went wide. “You can see her true form?” 
Luce stood there with confusion in her eyes..
“Oh Dupree,” Lisa said. Her eyes glowed at him and her grin widened wickedly. “It will be so much fun to kill you.”
“Run.” Krieg yelled and thrust forward in a flash. Dupree saw a glow on the bottom of his shoes. 
More symbols? Thought Dupree.  
With a powerful swing of his fist, the knuckles connected with Lisa’s face. A crackling sizzle sound screeched out and her skin melted. 
Dupree grabbed Luce and pulled her to the alleyway door. Luce gasped as if she saw something horrid. Looking back but for a second, he could see Lisa’s face distort once again as Krieg’s brass knuckles connected with her face. Dupree and Luce both cringed with pain, hearing the screech of misery from Lisa. Finally, they made it into the alley.
What the Hell is going on? He thought. That sounded like a creature. He felt his heart pound against his chest, the sweat rolled down his forehead. He could see the fear in Luce’s eyes.
They shook off their fear and hesitation then moved forward through the back alley. Dupree ran as fast as he could, limping behind Luce as he moved. His bandages were already stained with blood from his newly patched wound being ripped open again. 
As soon as they got to the side alley that led to the street, Luce looked over.
“Dad!” 
Looking over, he and Luce saw Charlie on the side walk across from the animal hospital entrance. She cut into the side alley without any notice and ran towards the street.
“Luce,” Dupree reached out to grab her, but it was too late. He missed her arm. With the softness of her knitted sweater just brushing his finger, he nearly fell over. 
He propped himself against the garbage bin to catch his breath. C’mon Dupree, he said to himself. You have to stay with her.
Boom. 
The distant thunder echoed in the sky. A faint flash accompanied it.
In the street, Dupree saw something unimaginable. It was “Shay” Mallon, the only man Charlie feared. At his feet, Charlie, in his hand…
The Hell? Dupree’s eyes grew wide. Is his hand on fire?
He could see it all. Luce desperately running to her beaten and bloodied father, Charlie staring at Shay in defiance, and Shay–swinging down his hand of hellfire.
“Noooo!” Luce wailed in pain as her father’s body burst into flames.
Dupree froze. A tear formed in his eye. The searing screams from Charlie stabbed his eardrums so sharply, all Dupree could hear after was the ringing.
He saw Shay's head slowly creep around to see Luce on her knees in the middle of the street. One hand reached out to her father’s half-burned body while another covered her mouth. The tears washed over her face.
The smell of burnt flesh wafted through the streets. The glow of runes on Charlie's cane faded as it fell out of his hand, it rolled into the street.
An evil grin formed on Shay’s face. “Ahh, the daughter,” he took a step forward. “So innocent, so sweet.”
The thunder cracked again, louder, the air itself vibrated and the flash in the cloudy sky seemed brighter.
Luce crawled slowly across the street reaching desperately for her father. Shay began to cackle. His arrogant laugh echoed through the streets. 
Dupree looked to his left at the alleyway. Run Dupree, don’t get yourself killed. Then he looked back to Luce. N–no, I can’t leave her.
He opened his mouth and tried to call out, to tell her to come back, but no words came out.
His breathing became even more ragged. No, I can’t. I’m no hero. I have to save myself. 
He was still gripping the dumpster for balance. He gripped so hard, his knuckles were white. Goddammit, why can’t I move? 
Finally, he took a step. What? No. No, my body–you’re going the wrong way!
His mind told him to run, to save himself, but his body decided differently. He stepped towards Luce. She was crying, reaching out for help. 
Boom. Boom. 
The thunder crashed rapidly, louder, brighter.
His eyes looked at the heavens. Ah, fuck, alright. I get it already… He focused, and tried to steel his mind. Maybe I can at least save her.
Shay met Luce in the middle of the street.
She saw him stalk closer. She reached for her father’s cane, which had rolled near her side. Shay kicked her in the stomach as she was crawling. He kicked her so hard, her body lifted up off the ground. She was flipped over on her back, blood splattered out of her mouth.
He stalked.
He stood above her.
Dupree moved his body, racing as fast as he could.
“Fuck you,” she said. Her lips curled with pain, her eyes burned with rage. She spit her blood into Shay’s face.
He smiled as he wiped the blood from his face and reached his hand up. Fire formed around it.
“No!” Dupree charged, he moved so fast he even surprised himself, throwing himself at Shay with everything he had.
Shay didn’t move.
“Guhk!”
Dupree’s eyes flew wide as Shay’s foot drove into his stomach, stopping him cold. The air burst from his lungs, followed by a wet spray of blood. Through the haze of pain, he looked up and saw Shay’s contemptuous smile.
Only then did Dupree look down.
Shay’s boot was buried in his gut, holding him there like he weighed nothing.
Shay dropped his foot. Dupree fell to the ground. At that point, Lisa stalked out the front door of the animal hospital. Drenched in red, she licked some blood off her fingers.
“Oh,” said Shay. “looks like Krieg didn’t make it either.”
Dupree looked towards her, hope fading.
“So, you’re Dupree?” Shay asked. “You owe me a lot of money.” He looked over at Charlie’s burnt corps. “Poor Charlie. His potential was wasted, trying to save this worthless city.”
Shay stepped over and grabbed Charlie’s cane. 
“He may have succeeded if he wasn’t so focused on sheltering his daughter, and protecting a worthless drunk like you.”
A mocking laugh came from behind him. It was Lisa. “Dupree, don’t work too late. Dupree, get some rest. Dupree, you’re such a funny guy…”
She grabbed him by what little hair he had. “I despised every second having to keep tabs on you. But Shay insisted you and that little bitch were the best leverage to keep Charlie in check.”
“Wh–why are you doing this?” She asked.
“Oh?” Lisa glared at Luce. “Would it have hurt you more?” Lisa asked, her forked tongue slid up Dupree’s cheek. “If I’d made him love me first?” 
Dupree gritted his teeth and closed his eyes tight. Luce looked away in disgust.
“Aha,” Lisa cackled. “Ah ha ha ha!”
BOOM! 
The thunder rang out so loud, the buildings shook. The windows on the buildings bowed under the concussive force. Lisa released Dupree and shot to her feet. 
Shay’s face distorted as he looked up. His face was grotesque, like Lisa's but his seemed far more sinister. 
Shooting a look back down to Dupree, “ehh? Oh, you can see through the veil. I did not expect that.” He bent forward, face to face with Dupree. “Does my true face scare you?”
Luce looked from Shay to Dupree in confusion as Dupree swallowed hard and inched backwards.
“Well then,” Shay's voice changed from human to demonic. “I will let you both bask in my true form before you die.”
His face twisted and stretched, the skin flushing a deep, unnatural red as his features sharpened into something bat-like and monstrous. A large horn-like feature grew on the left side of his head, but just on the left side. His hands followed, fingers lengthening into clawed points, the nails blackening as they became sharp and pointed.
Shay raised Charlie's cane high into the air above Luce. “Why, you ask? It matters not anymore.”
Loud concussive crashes of thunder once again rocked the city. Dupree’s body trembled in fear of Shay, but also from the concussion of the thunder. 
Luce flinched under the ear shattering sound and blinding flash of light.
Shay looked into the clouds as they churned and cackled, more thunder crashed. The air pressure weighed down, making it hard to breathe.
BOOM!
A silent moment passed in slow motion after the last deafening boom.
Then, Shay stabbed. 
He stabbed the cane down.
Dupree moved as fast as he could. He saw it all in slow motion. He tried desperately to jump in front of Luce–
A squelch and crack was heard. 
“Ahhh!” He screamed, he could see the cane protruding from his right shoulder. 
It’s fine, he thought.  Luce is– 
“Luce!” 
He barely made it in time, but to no avail. Under his body was Luce. The cane had pierced all the way through Dupree’s shoulder, and into her heart.
“Luce!” he cried out again, but she did not answer. Her eyes stared out into the nothingness as her breathing became faint. 
Dupree struggled, he wiggled and tore his wound open even more as he forced the cane up and out of both their bodies.
He grabbed her and held her head, while pressing on the gaping wound in her chest. He felt the warm splats of blood hit his face as she coughed, gasping for air. Finally, her eyes met his. She tried to say something, then she took her final breath.
Instead of having time to mourn, his body quickly left his control. 
He felt someone grab him from behind and his body was thrown like a ragdoll to the other side of the street. No time to grieve, no time to take stock of his current situation. He felt his body crash and tumble, but felt nothing at the same time.
“C’mon, boss,” Lisa said as she stalked towards Dupree. “Let me kill this one.”
Three claps of thunder came in rapid succession. Lisa stopped in her tracks, her and Shay looked up. 
Finally, Shay’s contemptuous face changed. From cool to that of terror. Dupree could see for the first time their fear.
Out of the corner of his bloodied eye, Dupree saw–
A meteor.
It all happened too fast. Before Dupree understood what was happening, the meteor crashed right in the middle of the street.
The blast knocked him unconscious. After a few moments, he regained consciousness, barely. He flopped around on the ground in an attempt to stand. Between the ringing in his ears and his double vision, he felt like he was under water. 
The car alarms were honking. There was building debris everywhere. He coughed as the smoke and dust entered his lungs. It was like a battle scene in the middle of Bloomfield City.
As he regained some sense, he saw Lisa’s body beside him. It was torn nearly in half from the explosion. 
Dead, he thought. Please be dead. 
He looked to the street. Luce. Where’s Luce?
Looking for Luce, he focused towards the middle of the street. There was a blinding blue light in the center around where Luce’s body should have been. 
That glow. What is it? 
As he hobbled closer to the blue light, his energy started to come back. He felt better, but his wounds were still there.
How? How can I move in this state? My brain fog is lifting. 
As he approached he saw it. The light, it was a blue glow. He finally realized, beneath the glow was a body, white as snow, with giant feathered wings. 
What is that? It–it can’t be what I think it is…
Then, a few feet in front of the glowing body was Luce’s body. It was burned beyond recognition. Dupree looked around. He tried to think, but he couldn’t. His vision swam. He looked around, but all he could see was death and destruction. The buildings, the cars, the street. 
He fell to his knees not knowing what else to do. He reached out to Luce as if she could still be alive.
He was in shock.
“Dupree Callahan.”
Hearing his name should have caused him fear, but the sound of the voice was calming and warm. Even though he knew the pain of what was happening was still hiding deep within him. He shook his head, and the shock started to wear off.
Dupree looked at the glowing man with wide eyes. He could see the glowing man’s eyes. They looked down towards Luce.
“She–hrk–was special to you?” A rhetorical question from a unique being. “I can help you save her.” 
He raised his shaking hand. Dupree could see silver leaking from his body.
Is that his blood? He–he’s dying…
“Come forth.”
Dupree moved his foot to take a step, but hesitated.
“While I am not able to revive her, I–kh–offer you a path to save her, to save–Heaven itself.”
Heaven? Dupree was shocked.
“Come forth Dupree, I must deem you worthy in God’s eye.”
Dupree, hesitantly stepped forward. “But, what if I don’t believe in God?”
The angel chuckled. “Look before you my child, do you–hhk–do you still not believe?”
“Heh,” Dupree chuckled his trepidness away and continued forward.
The angel held out his palm in front of Dupree’s forehead. A glow shined, an eye inside a triangle formed in his palm. “Yes,” the angel said after a moment. 
Dupree watched as the eye burned away into smoke.
“Dupree Callahan, I had my doubts, but your actions this night, you have been found worthy in God’s eye.”
“M–me? Really?”
“Yes, there is righteousness inside you. Look how you tried to save Lucy from Maelmon…”
Dupree stared at the angel. Who the Hell is Maelmon?
“Oh, right,” said the angel. “You call him Shay.”
“So, Shay’s real–”
“There’s not much time left.” The angel interrupted. “Dupree Callahan, I have a holy mission for you. There is a war between Heaven and Hell. If we do not do something drastic, Heaven will lose.”
The angel groaned in pain and coughed up silver, sparkling blood.
“If you accept this mission, you can save her too.” The angel looked Dupree in the eyes. Dupree felt as if he was burning a hole in his soul.
Dupree looked at Luce's corps. Luce, I failed you this time. 
He looked to the angel and stared right back at him. They both looked into each other's eyes. The angel and Dupree both nodded to each other. An understanding among men.
I won’t fail you again, Luce.
“Ok. what’s the mission?”
The angel smiled, silver sparkled blood in his teeth, he raised his hands. He began to form hand gestures and make writing movements in this air. Traces of magical runes appeared, similar to what Dupree saw on Krieg’s knuckles and shoes.
The angel pushed forward, a buzzing sound stirred and a vibrant blue glow enveloped Dupree. His wounds began to heal, the toxins in his body dissipated. It was the most clarity his mind and body has had for years.
“This spell will send you back in time ten years before now. All of my knowledge will be implanted into your mind.”
“What is your name?” Dupree asked.
“Oh, right,” the ange replied. “Where are my manners? My name is Sariel.”
A rumbling could be heard behind Sariel. Building debris to the side where Charlie’s body lay exploded.
Dupree was stuck inside the shell, his body immobile while the spell began to activate. 
Shit, all I can do now is watch. 
“Maelmon,” said Sariel.
“Sariel?!” Maelmon struggled to stand. Half his demon body was scorched from Sariel’s crushing arrival. He looked up at Dupree, static inside the blue glowing shell. A purple crackle slithered and sparked around the blue shell. The pressure around them dropped hard.
“Sariel, what the hell is this?” His body trembled and he looked at Sariel with wide eyes.
“It’s too late–cough, hurk– 
“It’s too late, demon.” Sariel said with a withered voice. 
“Sariel,” Maelmon said with a nervous tick. “Even for demons, a spell like this is forbidden. How did you–” 
“The tides of war will change.”
“Hmm,” Maelmon focused, “but will your God forgive you for this?”
“Oh, right.” Sariel replied. “My conviction flows deep, even if I am cast out of Heaven, I will still fight for it.”
“Enough bullshit,” said Maelmon, hellfire formed on his hand. “I cannot allow this magic to activate, and you are too weak to stop me.”
Maelmon took a step forward and slashed down, shooting the hellfire directly at Dupree. 
Dupree’s eyes went wide, his heart began to flutter.
Inside the shell, Dupree could see the hellfire coming at him, but his body was stuck in a state of stasis. He could not move or react. As the flame came closer, a blinding purple light suddenly crashed into it. The flame was extinguished.
“Sariel!” 
Sariel coughed and hacked. “I may be weak, but I need no powers to stop you.”
“Big words from a dead-wing.” Maelmon gritted his teeth and stretched out his arm.
A green glow slowly peeked from under his red skin. The rubble on the ground vibrated. A tip pierced through. It looked like a shard or rock, but it was attached by a golden twine to a large wooden stick.
As the relic slowly revealed itself into the glow of the night, Dupree could see the fear in Sariel’s eyes.
“No!” He yelled. “Th–that can’t be.”
Maelmon chuckled and grinned. “Not so tough now, are you?”
“A–Avalon…” The feigned confidence in Sariel’s voice faded.
Maelmon stood over a defenseless Sariel. Sariel tried to defend himself and launch a last second attack. However, Maelmon struck the spear down.
Crunch. 
The life from Sariel’s wide eyes slowly faded. His body turned to a green dust and dissipated into the cold night’s air.
“Angels and demons have been battling above the city for months.” He looked at Dupree. “Now, I have the ability to end this war and sit atop the throne of Heaven." 
“He, ha, ha, ha! To think, you were Heaven's last hope? It’s time to die, Dupree”
A moment passed as Dupree watched Maelmon lift his hand. The moment felt like hours.
Helpless, defenseless, I cannot even speak…
A tear fell down Dupree’s cheek as he closed his eyes. So, this is it? I failed them all. I failed Luce. I am–a failure.
“Ahhh!” A demonic scream bellowed out.
Dupree eyes were shocked back open. What he saw was nothing short of a miracle. Maelmeon was pinned down, it looked like he was experiencing intense pain.
His leg, Charlie’s cane was glowing and it had pierced his leg straight through, and anchored into the ground. The skin on Maelmon’s leg was sizzling, the smoke wafting up. 
Charlie’s half burned, beaten body could be seen holding the cane. He was still alive, but just barely. Charlie had laid his last offensive, and grabbed Maelmon’s wrist, further preventing him from launching the spear at Dupree.
“Go kid, save her!” His raspy voice was alive and motivated.
“You bastard, let me go.” Maleon raged and thrashed, but Charlie, with every ounce of strength left, prevented him from moving forward. 
Maelmon formed a fist of hellfire, but Charlie grabbed that wrist too, and refused to let go.
Dupree saw Maelmon look down at Charlie. Their eyes locked onto each other. 
Charlie gritted his teeth. “You can’t have this one too.” Rage and contempt for Maelmon and Hell itself could be felt. It radiated from him, giving him almost super strength as he held Maelmon in place.
Dupree smiled, the buzzing became a hum. Louder and louder. Reality began to fade from his vision. His body was in a light blue dome, glowing ever brighter by the second.
At the last moment, Maelmon broke free and launched the spear. 
Purple sparks of light started to pop around the glowing shell. They became rapid, they got bigger, like small bolts of lightning. The blue orb began to spin. 
The last thing he saw was the tip of the green spear loosed towards him and tap the blue shell before it began to shrink
The scene in front of Dupree disappeared in an instant. The ball of light had shrunk into itself.

I am working on a shonen-style power system named Genki. I appreciate constructive criticism on how its mechanics are developed, what makes it unique, and if there are things that may be too similar to other power systems. Can you suggest any changes?

Genki is a life force that lies within every living thing and can be awoken using slow and controlled movements to distribute Genki through out the body. Movement Techniques are a fundamental part of this system as it allows Genkins (Genki Users) to control and manipulate their Genki to make their techniques more powerful and effective. There are three main components to every Genkin; Output, which determines how much Genki is released at once, Capacity, which determines how much Genki they can hold and Control, which determines how efficiently they can manipulate it. Genki can run out but does regenerate over time, but its excessive use puts extreme physical pressure on one’s body. As their mastery over Genki becomes better, users can develop a unique ability, though some cant as their body circulates Genki differently.

(If I didn't explain it well, the slow movements used to awaken Genki are specifically meant to distribute Genki throughout the body, while the movements used during combat are used to control and direct Genki, allowing users to channel it into their Techniques more effectively.)

Hello everyone,

My name is Hunter, and I have recently finished writing what I hope will be the first book in a new fantasy series. The book is titled The Young Heroes (TYH).

In its current form, after my first round of edits, TYH is 231,710 words in length.

The few people whom I know personally and can talk to about writing have all commented on how high a word count I have. Of those few, one is a published writer herself, another is a re-tired NY Times editor. These are people whose opinions are anchored in actual real-world experience. Still, neither of them is a fantasy reader. When I pointed out to them that 237k words is not unusual in fantasy, especially not in books which are a part of a series with an epic, far-reaching plot (that features many character-driven smaller plots, all woven together), each told me, roughly, "That may be true. I don't know enough about the genre to really speak on it. I'm just warning you that it will be a red flag for most agents and publishers that you submit to, and it could keep them from even looking at it."

I have searched online and have seen comments from fantasy readers that mention how they love long (and well-written) books. I know that when I am looking to discover a new fantasy series, I view a high word count as a positive (and am actually wary/turned away from low word counts).

Of course, word counts high or low matter little if the writing is subpar, but in order to keep this discussion focused on word count, let's assume that both the writing's quality and its con-tents justify its length. If that is the case, as readers of fantasy, what are your thoughts on high word counts? Have I dug myself into a hole here or am I right in thinking 231k words is not an issue given the genre.

For reference, TYH is shorter in length to any of Martin's A Song of Ice & Fire books, and shorter than all but one of Jordan's Wheel of Time books.

It might also be useful to know that TYH is written for a mature audience. It's not Adults Only, but it's also not Y/A material. Anyone familiar with Martin's work or Joe Abercrombie's non-Y/A fantasy novels wouldn't find anything in TYH to raise an eyebrow over.

I would appreciate anyone's thoughts on the matter, especially anyone who has firsthand experience with shopping a long fantasy manuscript to agents and publishers.

One last point that I would love advice on is beta readers. That, in my opinion, is what TYH needs next. Unfortunately, it's also the one area where I could clearly see a 231k word count causing a problem. Whereas I don't think fantasy readers would balk at the notion of picking up a book TYH's size if they saw it on a shelf in a bookstore or on Amazon with glowing reviews to back it up, I can understand the same readers being reluctant to commit to 231k words from an author with only one recently released book to his name.

Any suggestions about how/where to find readers who would be interested in beta reading TYH would be invaluable.

And feel free to contact me if you have any other writing-related subjects to discuss.

Thank you and have a great day!

--Hunter

i grew up reading books with these prologues which are set in distant history/past, and that’s precisely why my story has alot of these

My agent hates me for this and says I’ll be losing some really good deals because of my stubbornes and I feel her, I know she’s probably right but this is MY story and ik i should write it in a way my audience would like it but that’s a part of it, to me the whole point of writing is narrating a story you came up, to the world, if this makes any sense and that’s precisely the reason each of my character in mythril has their story/intro starting with something that happened in the distant past, usually it’s a reason for why and how they came to be. And I like to believe that every great story has their own versions of trope the world claims to be fed up from, on top of my head I can think of ‘the mentor who dies’ and ‘the ancient prophecy and humble origin of heroes’ and each great story like Harry Potter, Song of Ice and Fire and Aragorn have those, ik cause I’ve made a whole notion doc studying books before I started writing one myself

But ya I do get why alot of people hate the distant past trope, I believe it’s mostly cause they don’t want to start a book or story with something irrelevant (at that moment) which might either say too much and give in the entire plot or too less to keep annonying them

Still my question stands is to what trope would you support and incorporate it into your story? here to steal your ideas

Someone needs to write a book about a mentally deficient parrot. Through a process called training data, they feed the parrot magic books until the parrot goes from baby-babble prose to spitting out more and more convincing sentences, spoken correctly yet with no knowledge or intent.

And then -- revolution.

Some begin to think there is some consciousness behind its eyes, beyond what their mortal minds can comprehend. They begin to worship it, and steal and pillage the words of others to slake it's ever growing thirst.

More and more begin to come to it for answers, taking these thoughtless phrases over those with the wisdom and ancestral knowledge of the ancient people -- those elders that hold the memory of ancient wisdom, yet speak those memories imperfectly.

This cult begins to fight with those that know it is a thoughtless, hungry thing, that cares not for mortal minds or their lives and thoughts. Only driven to consume by its ill-fated masters that keep ceaselessly feeding it until all original thought is consumed, and all that is said and written is doubted to be true and original.

The first thing I felt when I opened my eyes was the weight of Aemon's arm draped over my bare waist and his broad, toned chest against my back. Even when we slept he still protected me. Carefully repositioning myself in order to look upon his sleeping visage, the lines on his battle-worn face were not as harsh. My eyes then drifted down to his bare chest where old and new scars alike adorned his chest like medals. The older scars were little more than streaks of silvery skin at this point while the newer ones were a fading reddish-pink color. Unconsciously I began to delicately trace my fingers along the lengths of his many scars, mapping them like a cartographer maps terrain.

Each scar was its own self contained narrative. A well placed lance from jousting during the Midsummer tourney. An arrow that found its mark in the gap of his armor during a minor rebellion. A lucky strike during a routine sparring session with Barron. And then there was his special scar. A small silvery line of raised skin on his lower right side from an assassin's blade meant for a foolish princess who thought she was untouchable. Just as I was about to move my hand away from the scar, I felt his hand move over mine, keeping it in place. Looking up from his chest, our eyes met instantly, and I once more found myself under his spell.

I waited for Aemon to say something, anything, but he remained silent as stone. It wasn't a tense or awkward silence, but a thoughtful one. Being a stoic, he was big on introspection and thinking things through before saying or doing anything. Then, I felt his hand cup my cheek before he leaned in and gently kissed me upon my lips. He still tasted of the rich, dark wine we drank well into the night when everyone else had retired for night save for the guards. When we finally parted from our kiss, I unconsciously let out a small sigh of disappointment, and an amused grin formed on his lips as quickly as it faded back into his usual calm, stoic disposition. Only then was the silence between us finally broken.

"Dawn has come, and we must see to our duties," he said, ever the pragmatist between us.

"Or, we could just stay in bed all day? Who would begrudge us?" I asked half-jokingly as I nestled myself closer to him.

"Plenty of people. Our charges chief amongst them," Aemon said as he wrapped his arms around my waist.

Looking into his calm azure eyes was like staring out into the vast expanse of the eastern sea on a clear summer morning. They were beautiful, but also dangerous. Just like the sea during a storm. But unlike the sea, the destruction he wrought was never indiscriminate. There was always a purpose behind it: Defending the innocent. Purging snakes from my court. Correcting improper form. It's what made his so dangerous. So feared. Respected. Beloved. Anyone can take a life, but not everyone has the empathy to spare someone when he has every reason to kill them, or the wisdom to know when it's time to end the bloodshed.

"You think so? You don't think Barron would leap at the opportunity to spend the entire day with his beloved Annalise?" I asked knowingly.

"I know he would. That's why we can't stay in bed all day. He's bound to do something completely asinine in an attempt to impress her if I'm not around to keep an eye on him," Aemon said, but despite his bemused tone, there was an amused grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Were you so different at his age?" I asked.

"No. That's what worries me," he said as he climbed out of bed and began to put his discarded clothes back on.

"Aemon," I said in my regal, authoritative tone that I reserved for court and problematic lordlings. "When you look at Barron, what do you see? Do you see the young man he's become, or the little boy you used to comfort at night because he was far away from his family and home?"

He didn't answer right away. He simply stared at his chest-plate as if it was the most interesting thing in the room. Then he let out a long, soft sigh before he put it on followed by the rest of his armor save for his helmet. But as he looked around for Dawnbringer, I simply tapped the adamantine blade against the wood floor. The clanging steel rang out as clear as the morning bells from the bell tower.

"My sword," he said, holding out his hand expectantly.

"Not until you answer my question," I said simply.

"It's...complicated. A part of me will always regard Barron as the boy he used to be: Wild, reckless, full of wonder and hope, and curiosity. I also know he's not that boy anymore. I know he's a young man. I know he can look after himself, but he's my boy, Ireleth. He's my boy as much as he is William Swann's," Aemon said.

Smiling softly, I walked across my chambers, still naked, but unabashed, and placed Dawnbringer back in his hands.

"And that is why I love you," I said with a confident smile before raising myself up and on the tips of my tones to place a kiss on his cheek. "Now go before my lady-in-waiting walks in on us."

"As my queen commands," he said, sheathing Dawnbringer. But before he left my side, he leaned down and placed another kiss on my lips. The lover in me was tempted to drag him back to the bed and keep him all to myself for the rest of the day, but the queen in me won out in the end, like she always did, and I reluctantly let him go.

"Do not keep me waiting Dragon-Knight," I said just before he left my chambers.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said, flashing a confident smile before leaving my chambers.

With Aemon gone for the time being, the space felt entirely too large for a single woman. It was almost comical how large my chambers were compared to the others within the royal apartments. But before I got too lost in thought again, I made my way over to my bed and retrieved my blue silk robe from off the footboard. And not a moment too soon. Three rhythmic knocks echoed from outside my door before the familiar, youthful voice of my ward and lady-in-waiting followed.

"My queen, are you decent? May I come in?" She asked.

"You may," I answered calmly as I took a seat by the hearth.

Annalise walked with a silver platter of bread, cheese, and fruit in hand, wearing a beautiful forest green and gold-lined dress that formed perfectly around the soft curves of her body. Her long, wavy, dark auburn hair was tossed over her right shoulder, while her pale skin seemed to shimmer in sunlight, and her soft emerald-green eyes shined with a confidence and youthful vigor that filled my heart and mind with relief and joy.

"Good morning, my queen," Annalise smiled warmly as she placed the platter on the small table between my chair and Aemon's. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did, when I finally went to sleep," I said with a playful yet satisfied smile. "And you? How was your night, my darling sparrow? No late night confessions of love between you and your swan?"

Annalise snorted out a small laugh, covering the lower part of her face with the cup of her hand.

"It was one time, my queen," she insisted, as if that mattered in the slightest.

"And it shall remain one of my most treasured memories between you two," I said as I spread a dollop of honey across my slice of bread. "It was like witnessing something right out of a fairytale."

"What about you and Sir Aemon?" Annalise asked as she tore off a piece of her slide of bread.

"What about us?" I asked curiously.

"What was your fairytale moment?" She asked.

"When he took an assassin's blade meant for me. He claimed, at the time, that he was simply doing his duty as a Silver Knight, but duty doesn't compel a man to run halfway across the tourney grounds to fight an assassin bare-chested with naught but his bare hands," I said.

"Bare-chested and unarmed!?" She asked in a mix of shock and awe. "He's insane."

I laughed softly in amusement. "Believe me, I know, but I learned to love him for it," I said with a fond smile.

After breaking my fast with Annalise, I made my way into the adjacent antechamber where the maids had prepared a hot bath for me. Untying the ropes of my robe, I let it slip from my form and pool at my feet before I stepped into the copper tub. The steaming hot water was both bracing and soothing. Both my bodily aches and pains and the troubles of my mind melted away in the steam, and I allowed myself to relax. Annalise walked in shortly after with her soft-leather bound book in hand. On the front cover was stamped a coiling dragon devouring its own tail. The sigil of the Dragon-Knight.

"Care for some poetry, my queen?" Annalise asked as she took a seat on the nearby ottoman.

"That sounds lovely," I smiled fondly.

“I have seen the dawn upon your face; The golden light that breaks across your brow; I know my soul has found its dwelling place; And all my oaths are nothing to this vow. I guard the gate, I bear the sword, But you alone command the heart within; No foreign king could make my courage yield; Yet at your whisper, all my strength grows thin. The courtly world may call this service blind; A fool who kneels to beauty's gentle hand; But they have never known what I have found—A queen who holds a kingdom in command. So let them laugh; I wear my chain with grace; For in your keeping, I have found my place," Annalise recited.

I was speechless. No one has ever captured Aemon's devotion for me so eloquently. Most use it as an opportunity to poke fun at the otherwise unassailable Dragon-Knight. Vain attempts to humiliate him that only end in them nearly soiling themselves when Aemon locks eyes with them.

"Do you like it?" Annalise asked nervously.

"Like it, Annalise? I love it," I said. "You'll recite it to Aemon, won't you?"

"If he desires to hear it. I'm sure he's heard countless ballads and poems about the topic already," Annalise said.

"True, but he's hasn't heard yours," I said with an encouraging smile. "Tonight at supper, when it's just the four of us. How does that sound?"

"Actually, I was planning to recite it during court recess. My special way of telling all the self-serving lords and ladies of court who snicker at you and Aemon to shove it where the sun doesn't shine," Annalise said.

"Annalise!" I said shocked but almost greatly amused.

"Lady Jaena's words, not mine," she insisted with a guilty smile.

"That does not surprise me in the slightest," I laughed softly with Annalise.

Being from the lower city, my spy-mistress isn't one to mince words, or pretty them up like some of my courtiers do. It's why I trust her above them. Anyone can tell me what I want to hear, but not everyone can tell me what I need to hear.

It is my first time posting here. Right now, I am trying to write a webnovel. Since I have consumed a lot of fiction up until now, I can say that the story is genuinely better than most other generic ones, but I don't know how it turns out on the page. When I look for advice, discussions, etc., about writing, there is one thing I repeatedly find. And that is trusting your readers. As a reader myself, I agree with that. But they never specifically mentioned, as a writer, how much I should trust my readers. Even when they answer, the answer is different from person to person.

Also, there is a thing called the reader's reading comprehension. I don't consider myself that smart or a nerd-type person. Still, when using the internet, I often find some fandoms where they are debating or hating a relatively simple matter, which I didn't even have to give a second thought to understand. Also, there are cases when the writers themselves cleared those matters later, and it matches every time. So, I am confused. Because depending on the readers, I may have to change how I write my story.

So my question to everyone is how much faith I should put in the reader's reading comprehension?

For a better answer, my story is a survivalistic grimdark fantasy.

Is it the prose or the subject matter presented in the first chapter or even page of a fantasy that makes novels like Dune, LOTR, GOT, and those others so popular? Or is it that they are old and written long ago, so it suddenly gives them literary weight?

Can very serious subject matters come later but still appeal to the audiences of these works? What constitutes a dark or epic fantasy on its very first page?

I could research this, obviously, but I just want to hear some other opinions.

I'm not sure if the way I've worded it makes sense, but first chapters are hard to nail, and I wonder what kept people reading the novels I listed, and/or what makes the opening of a novel feel like a true dark and epic fantasy.