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The Sisters’ Bond
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2025-05-31 23:35:38
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The Forgotten Heiress: Rise of The Lycan Queen The Secret Flame
The ember tunnels beneath Emberhold were not built for the living.They wound beneath the city in patterns even the oldest maps failed to chart, tunnels carved by flame, reshaped by generations of unseen hands. There were no names carved above the arches, no markers or shrines, no songs sung to comfort the roots or drive away the darkness. Only echoes clung to the walls. Sometimes, if you listened with the right kind of fear, they whispered of choices made in secret, of a bloodline twisted not by ambition, but by memory and the desperate hope to protect what should never have been left behind.Vessa had never wanted to be a keeper of secrets. She was a blade, a sentinel. Her life was one of patrols, perimeters, the careful rhythm of discipline and vigilance. But sometimes, in Emberhold, the flame did not call with heat. Sometimes, it is called with absence. Sometimes, the absence itself was a message.She was deep into a patrol shift, third bell, boots silent on stone, when she felt i
The Forgotten Heiress: Rise of The Lycan Queen The General of the Veil
The Bone Throne did not sleep.It never had, not truly. It waited, even as centuries passed, a silent monument to everything the world had lost and forgotten. Beneath the arching towers of Iskhar, where the wind howled as if mourning its extinction, memory gathered like fog around the altar of bone and ash. Some legends called it a seat of gods; others whispered it was the skeleton of a world that died screaming.Sirelia stood at the base of the throne, the heavy silence of the Dustborn sanctum pressing down on her lungs. The world outside was chaos, dust-storms scouring the city’s old wounds, torchlight bobbing in the eyes of hungry priests, the wind’s edge a blade honed by grief. But in here, everything was still. Even the air seemed to mourn.Sirelia’s robes, spun from flame-touched silk, were inscribed with runes that bled where the threads crossed scars. She wore no crown, only crimson wrappings on her hands, remnants of the last rite that had failed to buy her any peace. Her eye
The Forgotten Heiress: Rise of The Lycan Queen Kael’s Madness
It began with a flicker.A single, stuttering spark behind Kael’s eye, a ripple that was not pain, but something colder. A warning, like the moment before a muscle tears. In the half-dark of the war council chamber, amid maps blackened by fire and blood, the silence stretched too long and too thin. Rune-lanterns guttered and died, snuffed by an unseen hand, leaving only the trembling light of broken sigils to mark the space between heartbeats.Kael was a circle unto himself, curled on the mosaic floor, a body ringed by shattered Oathfire and failed intentions. The air vibrated with the memory of violence. Each rune hissed where it touched his skin, as if even the oldest magic could no longer accept him.Lucien crouched beside him, hands slick with blood but steady, murmuring fragmented incantations meant to keep the Plague from blooming anew. Still, sickness crept under Kael’s flesh, roots of silver and shadow worming through his veins, crawling toward a heart that was his, but no lon
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
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