Novels by Jasmine Sheng

Word of the frost spread faster than the wind.By the end of the week, the villagers whispered of it as a miracle. They said the fire had died because the mountains themselves had chosen to protect her. They said the Saint of the Mountains had spoken and the Light had fallen silent.Seraphina heard the whispers each time she walked through the courtyard, though no one dared say them aloud when she was near. She pretended not to notice. The snow had settled thick and bright across the valley, glimmering like glass beneath the pale sky. It was quiet now, too quiet, but for the first time in months, the quiet did not mean death.Lucien found her standing by the chapel well, her hand resting on the frozen rim. “The scouts brought back reports,” he said. “The fires are gone. The Church has pulled back for now.”Seraphina nodded. “Balance remembers mercy.”“They’re calling you something new.”“I don’t want to know.”Lucien stepped closer. “You should. The refugees who arrived this morning c

The news reached them with the dawn. The scouts stumbled through the monastery gates just as the first light touched the peaks. Their faces were streaked with soot and frost, their breath coming in ragged bursts. One collapsed immediately; the other fell to his knees, words tumbling out between gasps.“They’re burning the valleys. The Saint’s army… they’re calling it the March.”Lucien caught the man by the shoulders. “How far?”“Half a day south. Maybe less.” The scout swallowed hard. “They’re cleansing everything. Houses, crops, people who couldn’t run fast enough. They call it purification.”Seraphina appeared behind him, her cloak brushing against the snow. “Did you see who leads them?”“The priests,” the scout said. “And soldiers wearing white. They carry banners with her name.” His eyes lifted, wide and hollow. “They’re singing while it burns.”A heavy silence filled the courtyard. Even the wind seemed to hesitate. Seraphina’s gaze turned south, toward the faint haze of smoke ri

The days after the rescue passed in uneasy quiet.Snow continued to fall, though more gently now, soft flakes drifting through the cracks in the monastery roof. The fires burned longer, and for the first time since winter began, the scent of smoke no longer meant ruin. The villagers worked in silence, mending walls, patching cloaks, gathering wood from the forest edge. Every sound felt heavy but purposeful, like the slow heartbeat of something waking.Cale slept for two days straight. When he finally woke, the first thing he asked for was water, then light.Elias found him sitting near the chapel wall that afternoon, half-wrapped in blankets, staring at the frost lines that shimmered faintly along the floor. The brand on his wrist had faded to pale scar tissue, though the skin around it was still raw.“You were lucky,” Elias said, setting a bowl beside him. “The fever broke last night.”Cale’s voice was hoarse. “I don’t believe in luck.”“Then what kept you alive?”Cale looked up, eye

The storm had passed, but the cold remained.By morning, the sky was clear again, a dull blue stretching endlessly over the mountains. The snow in the courtyard glowed faintly beneath the light, untouched except for a single trail of footprints leading from the gate. Seraphina stood beside the chapel door, watching the horizon. The air smelled of smoke and iron.Lucien had not yet returned.He had left before dawn two days ago, taking three of the stronger villagers down the southern road to scout the nearest passes. The last message he sent, delivered by a raven that arrived at dusk, had been brief: Movement near the old border. Church banners sighted.Now the silence stretched too long.

The snow had not stopped in three days.It fell in slow, soundless sheets, blanketing the valley until even the paths that led to the monastery disappeared beneath it. Smoke rose from the small fires in the courtyard, their warmth doing little to hold back the cold. Inside, the air smelled faintly of herbs and melted wax. The survivors from the foothills had begun to settle into uneasy rhythm, mending cloaks, repairing walls, tending to one another in silence broken only by the hiss of boiling water.Elias had returned at dawn. He had been gone for nearly a week, sent with two of the older villagers to the lower slopes to guide more refugees through the mountain pass. He came back thinner, his cloak stiff with frost, his hands ink-stained from the notes he had kept along the way.Now he sat near the gate, scratching those notes into a clean journal by the firelight. His handwriting was precise despite the numbness in his fingers. He had begun recording everything: each new face, each

Dawn came quietly.The first light slipped through the cracks in the cloisters, spreading across the stone like a slow exhale. The air was sharp with cold; frost had formed along the edges of the sigils carved into the courtyard floor, tracing each curve and symbol in delicate silver lines. When Seraphina stepped into the light, the frost shimmered faintly, responding to her presence the way morning dew bends toward the sun.She drew her cloak tighter. Her breath curled white in the air.The monastery was still. Only the soft creak of wood and the rustle of snow breaking from the eaves disturbed the silence. It was hard to believe that the world below had changed, that the Church had crowned a Saint, that her sister now stood at the heart of the Light. Here, everything felt suspended, caught between peace and ruin.She walked slowly through the courtyard, her boots leaving faint prints across the frost. The sigils pulsed weakly beneath the ice, like veins under skin. She knelt beside

Rachel’s POV“Well, if it isn’t George..” Said a familiar voice which carried an easy confidence.I turned slightly as a tall man stepped into view, holding a glass of whiskey in one hand.… Liam.Liam had been one of Adrian’s closest friends for years. I knew his voice, his posture, the faint arrogance that always lingered in his tone and the familiar disdain that always showed in his eyes.The eyes that always made me feel like I wasn’t enough. But this time, when his eyes landed on me, there was nothing. No recognition, no disdain. Only subtle interest.“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” Liam continued, extending a hand to George. “Though I suppose if there’s an opportunity within a hundred miles, you’ll find your way to it.”George shook his hand calmly. “Good evening to you too.”Liam’s gaze shifted back to me.“And you must be the infamous Lilith I’ve been hearing about.”Infamous. I kept my expression pleasant.“Lilith Grant,” I said, offering my hand politely.His hands

Rachel’s POVThe evening air carried the faint scent of the ocean.Pete Harrison’s estate overlooked the coastline, the kind of property that spoke quietly of old money and long-built success. Lights glowed warmly along the garden pathways, and the soft hum of conversation drifted across the terrace where guests had already begun to gather.But before any of that… there was preparation.I stood in front of the mirror in George’s guest suite, studying my reflection carefully.This evening was not just for a spectacle. Pete Harrison’s wife had a reputation that was well known in both charity circles and business communities. Despite the immense wealth her husband had accumulated over decades, she had always preferred things simple. Elegant. Unpretentious.No flashing diamonds. No aggressive displays of luxury. Just refinement.Which meant dressing for the sake of showing wealth like half the people who attended these events would be a deadly mistake. I smoothed my hands down the lengt

Rachel’s POVThe past few weeks had blurred into something sharp and relentless.I had been running from meeting to meeting under George’s direction, notebooks tucked under my arm, tablet balanced on my lap in the car, mind constantly calculating. Every morning began before sunrise, and every night ended with me reviewing numbers long after the house had gone quiet.It was exhausting.It was exhilarating.I had spent years believing I wasn’t suited for anything beyond the kitchen. That I could only bake. That I was too soft. Too emotional. Yet now, seated at a long conference table beside George, I found myself dissecting balance sheets and competitor projections with a clarity that surprised even me.George never hesitated.That was what I admired most.Where others deliberated endlessly, he decided. Not recklessly, but with precision. He absorbed information quickly, identified leverage points, and moved before anyone else had finished thinking. Watching him operate was like watchi

Adrian’s POVThe boardroom felt heavier than usual.The long mahogany table reflected the overhead lights in a sterile gleam, and at the head of it, my grandfather’s seat remained empty.No one commented on it. No one needed to.I stood slowly instead of taking that chair.“As you’re all aware,” I began, my voice steady despite the tension pressing in from every direction, “my grandfather suffered a severe stroke. The damage to his speech centre is permanent.”A subtle shift passed through the room.Not sympathy, but calculation.“He will not be returning to day-to-day leadership,” I continued. “And while he formally stepped back from the position years ago, everyone in this room knows he never truly left.”A few eyes shifted.“Even after retirement, my grandfather remained the final voice behind every major decision. He advised from the backline, reviewed our acquisitions, questioned our projections, redirected our risks. Nothing significant moved forward without passing through him

Adrian’s POVTwo days had passed since the surgery, but the unease hadn’t left me.Grandfather was stable now, if that was the word for it. His eyes were open, alert even, but his silence filled every room like an accusation.That morning, after another long visit, I returned to my office. The city looked unnaturally bright through the glass walls, sunlight glinting off towers that felt emptier than usual.I tried to focus on work, but the same thought kept circling back.Nurse Evelyn.She had worked for my grandfather for almost a decade, patient, competent and discreet.I’d never once received a complaint about her, never once found reason to doubt her. So why that day? Why had she stepped out, even for a minute?It wasn’t like her.The longer I thought about it, the less sense it made. She wasn’t careless, and she certainly wasn’t the type to take orders from anyone but Philip.I picked up the phone. “Call Evelyn to my office,” I said.Twenty minutes later, she stood at the door, l

Adrian’s POVThe call came while I was already halfway to the hospital.Traffic blurred past in streaks of grey and silver, my grip tight around the steering wheel. I’d left the office the moment Marissa hung up on me.The phone buzzed again on the seat beside me. When I saw the hospital’s number flashing across the screen, something cold settled in my chest.“Mr Parker?” The voice on the other end trembled. “It’s about your grandfather. He’s suffered a stroke.”For a moment, everything inside me went still. The air caught in my throat, sharp and dry. My hand tightened around the wheel until my knuckles turned white. It felt suddenly harder to breathe, harder to swallow, as if my body was rejecting the words I’d just heard.My heart lurched painfully against my ribs as I pressed harder on the gas.By the time I reached there, my pulse was hammering. The sliding doors opened too slowly, the corridors were too bright. The air reeked of antiseptic and panic.When I reached the ward, the