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Return

Author: Jordana Faye
last update Huling Na-update: 2025-09-16 10:47:15

Autumn woke beneath a silver sky.

Not gray. Not cloudy.

Silver. Pale and bright like the inside of a dream. The light had no source—it simply existed, soaking into her skin, painting everything in shades of frost and memory.

She sat up slowly, her body heavy as stone. The world around her spun in a slow carousel of fractured light and soft, echoing sounds. The tower was gone. The altar was gone. The rift—sealed.

The Hollow?

Silent.

Her fingers brushed the ash-stained ground. No pulse of shadow beneath it. No whispers in her ears. Only silence so deep it rang.

She was alone.

Until a voice brok

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  • First Bite   Grief and Grace

    Luma did not possess a physical form.There was nothing tangible to inter, nothing to ignite in farewell. No delicate hands to fold in repose, no glassy eyes to gently close. Instead, there remained only the void where she had once existed—an echo reverberating in the silence, a shadow's absence that lingered in the air.In her grief and love, Autumn decided to build a shrine in Luma's memory.Beneath the gnarled branches of an ancient willow that swayed like a dancer behind Mirabella Estate, Autumn knelt on the damp earth, straining against the weight of stones as she gathered them, her palms raw and bloodied from the effort. One by one, she chiseled intricate soul sigils into their surface—each marking a symbol of remembrance, protection, and the hope of return. The stones wove together into a cairn

  • First Bite   Love Unmasked

    The moon hung low, swollen and gold, casting a heavy glow across the clearing where the Veil had once torn the world open. Its light gilded the grass in molten silver, washing everything in a dreamlike hush.Autumn stood barefoot in the dew-damp grass, arms loosely crossed over her chest. Outwardly, the night was warm, soft with summer’s breath. But inside, her thoughts churned like a restless sea.So much had changed.Too much.And part of her feared—no, believed—that he had changed too.The sound of footsteps whispered through the trees. Tristan emerged the way he always did—quiet, shadow clinging to him like a second skin, steel written into the lines of his body. But tonight, he carried no blade, no silver w

  • First Bite   The Binding

    The summons came carved in obsidian.A single rune, etched into a stone left silently on Autumn’s windowsill. No courier. No messenger. No words. Just magic, humming like a struck bell, thrumming in her chest until she could feel it beating alongside her own heart.She turned the stone over once, the rune glowing faintly in the dark. Then she dressed.The Council of Night convened in a new place this time—a ruined opera house buried beneath New Orleans, a cathedral of broken velvet and bone. Dust clung to shattered chandeliers. The painted ceiling was cracked, cherubs staring down with broken faces. The stage had been repurposed into a throne dais, carved obsidian steps rising toward thirteen gilded chairs, each occupied by the most dangerous creatures the supernatural world still acknowledged.

  • First Bite   Return

    Autumn woke beneath a silver sky.Not gray. Not cloudy.Silver. Pale and bright like the inside of a dream. The light had no source—it simply existed, soaking into her skin, painting everything in shades of frost and memory.She sat up slowly, her body heavy as stone. The world around her spun in a slow carousel of fractured light and soft, echoing sounds. The tower was gone. The altar was gone. The rift—sealed.The Hollow?Silent.Her fingers brushed the ash-stained ground. No pulse of shadow beneath it. No whispers in her ears. Only silence so deep it rang.She was alone.Until a voice brok

  • First Bite   The Breaking

    The first sign was silence.Every spirit in the region vanished overnight. Not scattered, not hiding—gone. The air around Mirabella Estate felt hollow, as though sound itself had been stolen. Even the usual hum of the Veil was absent, replaced by a pressure in the chest that made breathing feel like inhaling glass.Then came the frost.In July.Autumn stood in the library, her breath fogging in front of her. Books along the shelves groaned under a thin sheet of ice. Even the fire in the hearth had guttered into pale embers, too weak to warm the room. She stared down at the Book on the table.Its pages no longer glowed. The once-living ink had turned black. Dead.

  • First Bite   The Mirror Rite

    The Book refused to open.No matter how she called to it.No matter how much blood she smeared across its edges, or how many ancient syllables she whispered until her throat grew raw.It had gone still.Not empty.Not dead.Waiting.Autumn understood why.She’d crossed the line with the soul-fire. The Veil didn’t forgive such things. Power always had a price, and the Book—her oldest, cruelest ally—wouldn’t move again until she paid it.The answer came not in its usual sweeping script but scrawled in the margin of a forgotten p

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