All That Remains Forever Cold Novels & Stories

It is only a man without problems that sleeps at peace and Kamsi was not that man. She was not a woman who knew how to deal with pain. She burdened her heart with alot of thoughts and even when she sleeps, her thoughts follow her to the realms of dreams where they taunt her with even exaggerated versions. A cold war rose after the night Kamsi mentioned Ella's coming. She had been expecting it; Silence was Mark's own attack or rather response in situations like that. Not responding to her greetings, eating food she prepared without acknowledging her and suddenly becoming just a house mate to her.

As he drifted off, the name of his beloved Luna echoed gently in his dreams, filling his heart with warmth and hope for their reunion. Alpha Valle walked through the hot morning air, feeling the sweat pouring down his body. He grumbled about the unbearable heat of the human world. “Back in Antarctica, heat was only used when it was really needed,” he grumbled to himself. “But these humans had to call up that blazing sun, making us all suffer.”

This cold has intention in it. It pours down off the black peak like water down the inside of a hall I cannot yet see, and the closer I climb to the Frostfang, the more it feels like walking up into the slow breath of something enormous and patient that has been exhaling for three hundred years and is in no hurry at all to stop. It does not want to kill me quickly. It wants to wear me down to nothing, the way it wears everything down, the way it wore three centuries of silver down to flat-eyed song.

The operating room doors closed like the final page of a book. In an instant, Yvonne and I were cut apart, as though we had been pushed into two different worlds. I wanted to laugh, but something caught in my throat. A metallic taste spread through my mouth, and something darker, heavier, sank inside my chest. Hopelessness was growing in me. I stood behind the hose cabinet like a broken statue for what felt like an eternity. By the time the doors finally opened again, the wind had already dried my tears.

I shook my head and went to the guest room. I had just finished laying out the bedding when the door opened. He stood there holding his phone, looking at me coldly. "Come here. Register your fingerprint." After saying that, he looked at me with that familiar superiority, waiting for me to tear up, act hurt for a few moments, then forgive him. That had always been his pattern. One slap, one sweet reward. But this time, I only smiled. "It's not necessary." He froze. After a moment, he let out a cold laugh. "Suit yourself."

The success of the Diaspora was brief. The excitement of the returning "Wood-Kin" quickly faded under a frightening reality: the stars were going out. Not due to explosions or eclipses, but because they were in stasis. Throughout the quadrant, the background temperature in space started to drop drastically. It wasn't just cold; it was Absolute Zero, a collapse of molecular movement. In the aftermath of this "Cold Wave," the bright, bioluminescent nebula of the Obsidian Reach didn't simply dim-it shattered like glass frozen in time.

But here, in this world, all that remained to him was a lifetime of atonement. Ryder's wolf, and the man himself, would remain here forever, bound to an endless, eternal winter. The sea wind still wandered in from afar, carrying the briny breath of distant waters. Snow drifted ceaselessly, laying its white mantle over the lonely keeper of the grave. On the headstone, Lyra's name gleamed ever clearer beneath the falling snow. And Ryder, who was seated before her grave, had already melted into the land in silence.

He had called this place Erstonia and had explained that it was the only kingdom to have survived the bitter cold of the north, but as they walked through the cold and empty streets of the city, she wondered if this was what he had meant by “survived”. The place was deserted, cold, quiet, having no sign of life and it sent chills up her spine, causing the hairs on her body to stand on their ends as goose bumps spread across her arms and legs.

​Winnie’s POV ​The purple snow did not melt when it touched the obsidian floors of the balcony. It sat there, glowing with a faint, rhythmic pulse that matched the headache thumping behind my eyes. I stared at the black mark on my palm, the broken thread that seemed to writhe beneath my skin like a living parasite. It was cold, a type of cold that bit deeper than the northern winter, a cold that felt like the absolute absence of love. ​“We cannot stay here and wait for the ice to turn into a graveyard,” I said, my voice echoing in the quiet of the war room.

That river stayed White ice for hundred years and no fire could drink it. My palms burned again, not from silver net this time, from pushing light into ice that was so cold it tried to eat light back. My moon mark on neck pulsed hot cold hot cold, Jax four lines around me pulsed with it, trying to help, trying to make shield that black smoke could not drink through, but shield was thin and flickering and ice island we stood on was still shrinking even with white veins, because black flame on far bank was growing taller.