Novel-novel oleh Ashley Sheeks

Veylan’s POVHe dreamed of light.He always did, at first.A memory of silver on skin, of laughter echoing through the first night, of fingers that once traced constellations across his chest and named them mercy.Then came the ache.The reminder that light no longer touched him — that it had been sealed away with her forgiveness, buried beneath roots and stone and silence.He had forgotten the passage of years. The Bloodwood had no time, only pulse. Its heart beat with his own, slow and endless.He did not hunger. He waited.And now, after ages of quiet, something stirred.A tremor through the roots.A thread of warmth cutting through the dark.Not the goddess — no, not her.But her echo.Child of my light, he thought, the words not spoken but formed in the breath between worlds. Born of her mercy and my fire. I can feel you.Images flooded him — fragmented, half-formed.A girl with silver-threaded hair and eyes that burned like dawn breaking through mist.Her laughter was his goddes

Third-Person — Seren’s MemorySleep never came easily anymore. The forest whispered too loudly, threading dreams with memories until she couldn’t tell which was real.Seren’s head rested against the cold wall of the hollow, eyes half-lidded. The rhythm of the roots pulsed in her veins, dragging her mind backward — to the day it all began.⸻A Year EarlierThe air north of the Frostline had smelled different — sharp, metallic, touched with the faint sweetness of rot. Even then, Seren had known the rumors were true: something was stirring beyond the old borders.The rogues were changing.Not just rabid or broken — organized. Driven by something that called itself truth.She and Theron had gone north with purpose. The elders had begged them not to, warned that the Bloodwood was cursed, that even the goddess’s voice could not cross it. But Seren had felt the pull for months — dreams filled with crimson trees and a voice that wasn’t quite divine but heartbreakingly familiar.She’d told The

Seren’s POVThe Bloodwood never slept.Even in the dark hours before dawn, the forest pulsed faintly — roots whispering beneath the soil, sap glowing red as if carrying the last heartbeat of something divine.Seren sat with her back against the stone wall of the hollow, eyes half-closed, listening. The sound wasn’t wind; it was breath. The entire forest exhaled and inhaled around them, alive in ways no living thing should be.Across the narrow chamber, Theron stirred in his chains. The faint light from the bleeding roots caught in his hair, turning it copper-red. “You’re awake again,” he said hoarsely.“I never really sleep,” Seren murmured.He smiled grimly. “No one does here.”Their prison had once been a temple — she could feel it in the architecture, the arches carved with lunar symbols now overgrown by the living roots of the forest. What had been holy was now devoured.For months — maybe more, time had lost meaning — they had survived on whatever the rogues brought, their bodies

Emry’s POVSunlight streamed across the room in long golden bars, carrying the warmth of early spring. Outside, the courtyard was already alive — the steady rhythm of hammers, the rustle of fabric, Mirae’s voice cutting through it all like a command wrapped in cheer.Emry sat by the window, still in her linen shift, hair tumbling loose over her shoulders. The breeze carried the scent of baking bread and crushed flowers. Everything felt so normal that it almost hurt.Through the open shutters, she could see the pack working — stringing lanterns between the pines, polishing the carved stones where the vows would be spoken. Mirae moved among them like a force of nature, hands flying as she scolded, directed, and encouraged in equal measure.Emry smiled faintly, then let the expression fade. She should have been happy — and part of her was — but beneath it all lay a quiet restlessness, the kind that came before a storm.She pressed her palm to her chest, feeling the hum of the bond — Brax

The pack grounds were unusually still for an evening before a celebration. Most of the bustle had moved toward the forest clearing, where Mirae was orchestrating the final touches like a general at war with aesthetics.Braxton had escaped to the training field, needing air. He worked through forms with a wooden blade, the rhythmic crack against the post grounding him in a way words never could.The prophecy had left a weight in his chest he couldn’t shake — a quiet dread whispering that everything he loved was already marked by the gods.He didn’t hear Eastin approach until the crunch of boots broke the silence.“Thought I’d find you here,” Eastin said, stopping a few paces away.Braxton lowered the blade. “Trying to remember what normal feels like.”“Any luck?”“Not much.” Braxton wiped his brow with the back of his arm, then nodded toward the faint glow of lanterns in the distance. “Your friend’s planning a small war out there.”Eastin huffed a quiet laugh. “Mirae’s been waiting her

Emry’s POVThe afternoon sun poured through the council courtyard, turning the white stone almost gold. The air hummed with life—wolves training, children laughing, the distant clang of metal.And, somehow, Mirae’s voice above it all.“Absolutely not!” she called toward a bewildered guard. “If you think I’m letting anyone hang dull brown banners for a divine mating celebration, you’re out of your mind. We’re talking moonlight, silver, maybe lilac—something that doesn’t look like a funeral!”Emry groaned from the steps where she sat with a basket of parchment Mirae had forced into her hands. “You realize I didn’t agree to a festival.”Mirae whirled, hands on her hips. “It’s not a festival; it’s a statement. You and Braxton are the first bonded pair blessed by the moon in generations. People need hope—and honestly, I need an excuse to boss people around again.”“You never need an excuse,” Emry muttered.Mirae ignored her, plucking a quill from the basket and sketching quick notes on one