Fantasy runs on trust. You trust a book to sweep you somewhere new, to make your pulse race with heroes and worlds that feel alive. You hand over your time—hours, maybe days—believing the story won’t let you down.
But lately? That trust’s been shaky.
You’ve felt it: you dive into a new series, hyped for adventure, but it’s the same old medieval Europe knockoff. Another chosen one. Another smirking “girl boss” who’s perfect at everything but trips over her own feet for charm. It’s like the book’s daring you to care about a plot you’ve read a hundred times.
Ever groaned at a prophecy that screams “hero wins”? Yeah, me too—way too many times.
These tropes are like signing a pact with disappointment. The story swears it’s epic, but the fine print reads, “Same knights, same castles, same predictable ending.” You’re supposed to grin, nod, and pretend you’re thrilled, keeping your boredom under wraps.
But what happens when you say it’s not enough?
Calling out stale fantasy is like breaking some sacred code. You’re not supposed to admit the elf kingdom’s boring or the Dark Lord’s a snooze. It’s like you’ve stumbled into Storyteller Fight Club.
Rule number one: Don’t say the book’s a drag.
Rule number two: If someone asks why you DNF’d it, just mumble about “worldbuilding” and bail.
And the craziest part? Nobody knows what happens if you demand better. You’re left wondering if you’re alone, craving something fresh while everyone else laps up another Viking-with-a-warhammer clone. Deep down, you’re half-expecting a Reddit thread to pop up, shaming you for wanting more than fur-clad dudes swinging axes.
It’s wild, right?
You’re out here policing yourself, afraid to admit you’re sick of Ren Faire aesthetics and heroes who never lose. Meanwhile, you’re tossing trust around like confetti. You trust BookTok vids hyping a new release, bookstores to stock something bold, even that sketchy Goodreads review with zero details.
But when it’s time for a story that matters—one that could rekindle your love for fantasy—that trust vanishes.
Doubts sneak in.
Hype on forums fizzles out. That “groundbreaking” novel? Just another sword-and-sorcery rerun.
Why? Because when the stakes are high, everyone plays it safe. Writers lean on clichés. Publishers push familiar covers. Even readers hesitate, burned by one too many “epic” letdowns.
But that’s where serendipity swoops in.
Great fantasy needs trust—but it thrives on the unexpected.
Serendipity’s like a rogue spell—you can’t plan it, can’t fake it. It’s that jolt when a story flips the script: a Muslim hero, Radu, facing the real Dracula—not a caped cartoon, but Vlad the Impaler, a tyrant who impaled thousands and burned the poor alive. It’s a gritty, blood-drenched saga in the 15th-century Ottoman Empire, where scimitar-wielding warriors and demonic cyborgs clash in the Balkans. That kind of randomness—raw, unpolished, alive—makes you trust a story again, because it’s not pandering to the same old playbook.
Am I saying you should burn your Tolkien collection? Nah, that’s drastic. But ask yourself: when you grab your next book, are you just trudging through another cookie-cutter quest? Are you skimming like a bot, stuck in a loop of knights and dragons? Or are you chasing a story that moves you—something that says, “This is different. This is real.”
Are you sinking into a world that feels human, or just slogging to the end? Is it firing up your imagination—or just recycling the same four elements?
Bring your imagination—and yeah, maybe your wallet, because The Lesser Evil (Chapter 0 of the series) is waiting at https://talesofkhayr.com/lesser-evil/.
Regards
Wes