A Forgotten Shrine Novels & Stories

Perfect for convincing a woman with no memories that we share more than a forgotten past. The revenge I’ve hungered for slides within reach at last.

We sat in silence, finishing our drinks as I closed the laptop. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes. Stacy was right about one thing. After looking at these, even if I never got my memories back, this fundamentally changed me. The path going forward for my life was now altered. I could never go back. Not after seeing these. Knowing what I had and what I lost, I never wanted to love again. Everything would pale. Even Adrian was struggling with the concept of it.

to me. Not once. Not even when we were children, when our parents were still alive. Theron put the communicator away and walked back to my ashes. He crouched down, his hand hovering over them. I held my breath. Please, recognize me. When we were kids, we found an ancient text in the clan library. It spoke of a secret unique to our bloodline. Even in ash, an imprint of the soul remains. A powerful enough mind, one deeply connected to the blood, could read it.

"Then let me earn you back. Let me finish this fight by your side." Sylvester's POV Seeing her in pain shattered me more than any blade could. I had built walls around her trying to shield her from the truth, only to realize I’d been burying her in darkness. "If you don’t believe me," I said, "then come with me. Let me show you. The archives beneath the old church in Aleria still hold pieces of your family’s legacy. Maybe then… maybe you'll understand." She stared at me. Her lips parted, but no words came.

When that fell through, they closed everything down and left the city. That Claire is right here, bright green eyes staring back at me in shock. Her red hair is shorter right now, her expression more tired. She leans back, moving out of my sight. I drop my glance to my older brother, whose shoulders slump, and feel the need to laugh. How nice. I came here to escape my current problems, and now I have to return home with the knowledge that my own brother is out of my life for good. We were never close, but I thought there was mutual care to some degree.

“Victory here is only temporary, and toghinning is worse elsewhere. We need a place truly forgotten.” “Where?” Ronan asked, suspicion strong but cautious. The Remnant’s grey eyes seemed to see beyond them. “A village, three days north. Stillwater. Healers, storytellers once lived there. Wiped off maps two generations ago after a plague nobody wanted to remember. Its story is gone. Thinning is worse there. A good place to start.” The task felt huge. One forgotten village. How many memories are lost? Stories vanished? Liora felt weak. She looked at the standing stones where Ashiel had faded. She had to bring him back. They couldn’t do this without him. He was the Anchor, the steady ground for

Like walking into the scent trail of something that doesn’t want to be found. Every step he takes sounds wrong now. Like we’re walking over something we shouldn’t be. We crest a rise and I see it— The structure tucked into the cliffside, half-swallowed by ash and thorn. A shrine, maybe. Or a ruin pretending to be one. No smoke, no markings, no sign of life. Just stone choked in moss and clawed by time. But it hums, not with power. With memory. I stop walking. Kael stands beside me, jaw tight. “We don’t have to stop here.”

The one who had been cast out by the other gods for trying to destroy everything. The one who was known only as… The Forgotten. And as the voice faded, the crystal cracked.

I slid from my bed, bare feet silent on the cold floor, and eased the latch up. The hallway was empty. A draught slipped under the back door, bringing with it the night’s chill. I wrapped my shawl tighter and moved like a ghost past the kitchen, past the scullery, through the wash yard. Only the stars watched. The old shrine sat near the far edge of Bloodthorn lands, where the forest thickened and the ground sloped down toward the river. It was the kind of place people used for rites. No one talked about—first shifts, desperate prayers, and hidden oaths.

Fools. The abandoned shrine sits deep in the woods, a crumbling stone structure older than Fang territory itself. Most pack members avoid it, whispering about curses and restless spirits. Pete discovered it at fifteen while tracking a wounded deer, and he's been coming here ever since. The shrine predates werewolf settlement, built by something ancient that understood true power. He enters through the collapsed archway, and immediately the temperature drops. His breath comes out in white clouds, and frost glitters on broken stone despite no wind reaching this far into the structure. Moonlight filters through gaps in the roof, painting everything in shades of blood and shadow.