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THE SKY THAT BREAKS
Last Updated:
2025-09-06 03:48:36
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Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King THE FIRE THAT DOES NOT BOW
POV: ArayaThe hum is still there.Not fading. Not softening. A low, patient vibration stitched into the marrow of my bones, like the earth itself has decided to breathe through me. It isn’t sound, not exactly — it’s attention.The kind of attention that makes your pulse forget which rhythm belongs to you.The forest knows it too. Crickets mute. Leaves freeze. Wolves crouch belly-low in their dens, not daring to howl. Even the air feels wrong — stretched thin, like skin pulled too tight across a drum.I keep my eyes on the wound in the sky. It hasn’t closed. It hasn’t widened. It just waits — a seam of unmaking stitched into the night. Light and shadow drip from its edges, pooling where they shouldn’t, seeping into the dark like ink into water.Nyxara’s voice threads under my heartbeat:> Not even Fate dares stand in that shadow.It isn’t reverence. It isn’t fear. It’s the hush of remembering an old truth better left buried.My fingers curl into my palms until my nails sting. My skin
Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King THE WOUND IN THE SKY
POV: ArayaIt starts as a hum.Not in the air — in me. Low and steady, like a heartbeat that isn’t mine, thudding up through the soles of my feet, into my bones, into the place the Hollowflame sleeps and pretends to be tame.The forest holds its breath. Crickets go mute. Leaves tilt as if listening.“Do you feel that?” I whisper.Dorian is already watching the sky. “Yes.”The first tear appears with no thunder. No warning. The night simply… opens. A seam of pale light splits the dark, its edges curling like paper too close to flame. It isn’t moonlight or sunlight — it’s the kind that hurts to see and won’t let you look away.The Hollowflame rises through me, uncoiling like a serpent scented with blood. It licks my ribs, my throat, the hinge of my jaw, asking. I don’t release it. Not yet.The seam widens. Shadows spill out with the light — not a contradiction, a marriage. The air makes a sound I’ve never heard: a long, thin keen, like a string pulled past forgiveness.Nyxara goes very
Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King THE SKY THAT BREAKS
POV: ArayaIt began as a hum.Low. Bone-deep.Like the earth had swallowed a heartbeat too big for it to hold.The trees around me stilled. Not windless—prey-still. The Hollowflame inside me reacted before I could, uncoiling up my spine in a slow, serpentine rise.The sky—clean midnight moments ago—tore.Not lightning. Not storm.A rip.The edges curled like paper too close to fire, spilling not just light but shadow, woven so tightly together the air ached to look at. My chest seized. Every instinct screamed this wasn’t for mortal eyes, not even for wolves.“Dorian—”“I know.”He was beside me before the word left my mouth. His gaze locked on the Veil as the wound widened, silent and hungry. Hollowflame surged at my palms. Divine light bled from the cracks in his skin like molten gold.Then—A voice.---Fate’s VoiceIt didn’t sound.It was structure-breaking.The kind of voice that didn’t enter your ears—it arrived in your marrow, echoing through the bones you were born with and the
Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King THE BONE BLADE
POV: DorianThe Hollowwild breathes when it wants you dead.THE BONE BLADE I feel it in how the branches ration moonlight, in the hush that falls when I cross the old boundary stone. Sound doesn’t vanish—it recoils. Even my own breath feels like trespass here.The glade is where I remember it: a circle of earth that never quite grows grass, ringed by trees that lean in as if eavesdropping. Waiting at the centre—my trial.It isn’t a beast in any shape the mortal world would name. It gathers from smoke and memory, a convergence of antler and ash, of every hunt my people survived and the hunts that unmade us. Its eyes aren’t eyes at all, but deep wells where stars might drown.“Your bloodline is ash,” it tells me, voice lodging in the bones of my face.“And?”“Ash is nothing unless burned twice.”White fire blossoms behind it—not flame that eats the forest, but a wall that burns without consuming. I can smell it. It’s not wood. It’s hot iron, old law, names spoken for the last time.“St
Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King OATHS AND HOWL
Aetheria — The OathkeeperThe Chamber of Ledgerlight was a cathedral of silence.Columns of etched silver rose like frozen waterfalls, each line a vow, each shimmer a life promised to another. I stood among them with bandaged hands I had not needed for an age, gloves hiding the ruin the Loom’s corruption had carved into my palms.I am the Oathkeeper.And tonight I would do something I had sworn never to do: reach directly into a mortal thread.Not just any thread.The unborn one.A life that should still have been nameless and white, humming with the clean promise of tomorrow.Instead, it tasted of root.I extended my will toward the Loom’s nearer filaments. The air tightened, law gathering to me like iron to a magnet. Runes lit along my wrists, burning the old scars, the old oaths, the old price of meddling with what even gods should not touch.“Return,” I commanded the thread that was not yet a name. “Return to white.”For a heartbeat, it obeyed. The shadow wavered.Then something c
Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King THE LOOM’S SHADOW
POV: Selene / FateThe Hall of the Loom is the one place in Solara where even gods whisper.Not because we fear the threads.Because the threads remember.The air here is older than fire, colder than moonlight. The pillars climb higher than any mortal neck could crane, etched with runes that predate language. The floor is no stone at all but a vast weave of strands, humming faintly beneath my bare feet with every life they represent.My steps make no sound as I move deeper into the hall, though every instinct in me screams not to be here alone.The Loom rises at the far end, impossibly wide, its threads stretching out into a horizon that does not belong to this room or even this realm. Some shine like sunlight caught in crystal. Others flicker, dimming toward their end. Still others fray, curling like burnt parchment.Once, I thought I understood its patterns. That was before the First Sundering—before I learned the gods do not hold mastery over their own fates.I have not stepped ins
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