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Beneath the Rubble
Last Updated:
2025-06-10 22:24:00
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The Forgotten Heiress: Rise of The Lycan Queen The Ghost Feast
The moon was bloodless the night the Ghost Feast began.No halo crowned its edge. No stars danced nearby—just a pale, suspended wound in the sky, watching, waiting. Above Emberhold, the heavens had gone still, as if the air itself had been instructed to hush.The fires had been doused, all but one: the cold-blue ring that circled the new obsidian stone laid at the city’s heart. Bare of rune, bare of title. Only a spiral. Etched like a question no god had yet answered.No one spoke names.The dead remembered names.And tonight, they answered only with silence.Seren stood at the centre of the circle, barefoot, her skin marked with ash and blood. Not symbolic blood, real blood, fresh from her oath-mark, still weeping along the inside of her wrist. She did not attempt to hide the wound.Saphira stepped forward first, moving like memory wrapped in motion. Her ash-smeared braids whispered against her cloak. She raised one palm to the moonless sky.“Let the air remember their voices.”The c
The Forgotten Heiress: Rise of The Lycan Queen The Ashborn Capital
The first foundation stone of Emberhold was laid in silence.It was not polished, not blessed. It bore no crest. Only soot. Only memory. Its surface was scorched, edges melted inward as if the fire that destroyed the village it once anchored had tried to consume the stone itself, and failed. A child placed it on the ground. Her hands were too small. Her eyes are too old.Seren knelt beside her.Not as a ruler.As a witness.“This is yours too,” Seren whispered.The child looked up, her voice like cracked porcelain. “But I’m no one.”“You’re still here,” Seren said. “That makes you someone.”The girl nodded, and they pressed the stone into the ash-dark soil together.And with that, Emberhold began.It didn’t rise like cities in the old stories. No towers spiralling toward golden suns. No trumpets. No fanfare. It rose crookedly, beautifully, in defiance of what had come before. There were no architects, no steeples of ambition, only the hands of survivors, blistered and trembling. Only
The Forgotten Heiress: Rise of The Lycan Queen The Queen of Dust
The cliffs of Emberfall had never known silence like this.Even in the ages before the flame, when gods still whispered through pine and blood, the wind had always moved. The torches had always flickered. The wolves had always howled.But now, even the mountain held its breath.No wind stirred the trees. No foot shifted in the packed snow. Even the birds, long hidden in the cliffs, had gone still.Only the fire inside the land remained.Waiting.Above the gathering, carved into the bones of Emberfall’s rockface, seventy-seven steps climbed toward what remained of the ancient coronation site. A broken ring of ash. A circle once sanctified by queens long turned to dust. A place where blood and oath and sky had once converged, not to bless, but to test.And into that silence,Seren walked.Alone.Barefoot.The blood of her oath with Kael had not dried. It shimmered faintly across her palms, stitched into the veins beneath her skin like silver thread woven by fire itself. Her cloak dragge
The Forgotten Heiress: Rise of The Lycan Queen Kael’s Blood Oath
The snow fell like ash, soft, steady, and without end. Each flake was a whisper, a breath held by the gods, a memory returned to the world. Moonfang Citadel, once the gleaming jewel of the north, now stood gutted beneath the moonlight, its walls a ruin, its sigils half-buried beneath snow and scorched stone. There was no glory here now. Only memory. Only ghosts.Kael stood beneath the southern wall, the ancient crescent moon sigil fractured behind him. His breath escaped in shallow, uneven gasps, each one a testament to the war within his own body. The Plague, that cruel, creeping corruption of wolf and man alike, had stolen nearly everything: his strength, his clarity, the voice of his wolf spirit, but not his will.Not yet.And it was will that brought him to Seren now.She stood across the frost-covered courtyard, wrapped in a mantle lined with the fur of fallen kin, flame-stitched at the hem with ancient runes that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. Her silver eyes betrayed no we
The Forgotten Heiress: Rise of The Lycan Queen The Death of a Moonbound
The morning air hung thick with frost, each breath a ribbon of silver trailing skyward like smoke from a dying altar. The wind curled low across the stone, whistling between the bones of the old pine roots and whispering through the high grasses brittle with ice. It was not yet sunrise, not truly, but the light that broke over Emberfall’s ridgelines painted the world in steel and mist.Ruvan rode alone.His cloak, dyed the deep grey of mourning, fluttered behind him like ash caught in slow wind. The markings across his bare neck, delicate, precise inked lines that marked his rite of blood and moon, seemed almost to glow in the thin light, as if they remembered too.He did not look back.Not to the outer encampment, where the last fires of the night still guttered. Not to the Moonbound banners that trembled faintly in the wind. Not even to Seren, who had stood with arms crossed and eyes unblinking as he took the reins from the stablemaster.He didn’t need to see her face to know what i
The Forgotten Heiress: Rise of The Lycan Queen Lucien and the Vampire Queen
The bloodlands had changed.Where once starlit frost threaded the rivers with pale light, now thick, crimson water crawled through cracked stone and dying reeds. It smelled not of rot, but of iron and memory, heavy as regret. Nothing moved in these lands. Not wind. Not a bird.Only Lucien.He rode alone, his horse a pale creature with eyes like hollow moons, hooves sinking soundlessly into dirt that pulsed faintly underfoot, as if it remembered how to bleed. Lucien’s black cloak dragged behind him like a shroud, catching on roots and forgotten bones. Dust clung to him, ash whispered in his wake.Above, the sky stretched wide and bruised. Not dusk. Not night. A never-ending hour. That bleeding hour when the world didn’t know what it was becoming.The silence here was sentient.It wasn’t the absence of noise. It was the presence of watching.The path sloped downward, twisted into the ribs of the hills. Trees thinned to pale-barked husks, leaves long lost. At the edge of the horizon stoo
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