Alora Frost North Mountain Novels & Stories

The light of the seal’s remnants flickered faintly, as if reminding her that power alone wouldn’t save them apart they needed precision, cunning, unity. The Northern Path climbed sharply, a knife-edge trail that cut through the frozen trees. The wind bit at their faces, sharp and relentless. Aria moved at the front with Kael, the pack behind, each wolf attuned to the slightest sound or motion. The sun rose higher, but it did little to thaw the chill that seemed to press down from the sky. Halfway up the slope, the ground trembled. Small at first, like distant drums, then growing into a quake that rattled the frost-laden branches. Kael stopped abruptly. “Something bigger,” he said. “Closer th

“But the people watching from the tower are screaming, Elara, the flash of light did not just clear the pass.” He pointed up the stairs to a window that looked out over the northern mountains. Through the smoke from the machines, the mountain did not look gray anymore. The big wall of fire had started something deep in the mountain, something that Elara's father had been trying to hide for twenty years. The whole side of the Frost-Peak mountain was starting to break open, a big crack was forming and it was filled with silver. It looked like stars flowing down the stone. From the deep hole, something was starting to come out.

The Cocoa Pebbles were an anomaly. I was standing up to raid the fridge for a glass of milk when a muffled boom rattled the windowpanes. It sounded like a localized crack of thunder. I frowned, crossing to the glass to peer out at the darkened street. It had come from the direction of the Navarro Memorial Stadium, three blocks over. Leaning closer, I caught the distant, rhythmic roar of thousands of wolves. The jumbotron was a glowing beacon in the night, flashing celebratory runes for a scored goal.

POV: Aria Monroe The Frost Vale was colder than Aria remembered. Not just in temperature, but in spirit. The trees were skeletal, stripped of bark and life, their branches reaching like claws toward a sky that refused to shine. Snow fell in slow spirals, but it wasn’t pure—it was ash. The ground beneath her boots crunched with bone and ice, the remnants of flame-bearers who had come before. Luna walked beside her, silent, her mark glowing like a beacon in the dark.

Elara A beautiful sunset illuminated the Sacred Mountains of the North, whose peaks were covered with thick snow, an unmistakable sign of the particular snowfalls of the area. As we drove along the road, the orange color of the sky embellished a landscape worthy of a postcard. Everything seemed beautiful and idyllic until I was aware of the cold seeping hard through the car window. I pulled my coat tightly around me to warm my body. The guards up ahead paid no attention to me; they were just laughing at an anecdote about a rookie who had failed the guard exam.

“She left blood behind. It’s old. Ancient. Not Zane’s.” Rhys growled. “He’s taking pieces. Gathering power.” Kael looked at Aria. “He’s coming for you next.” They didn’t wait. Kael ordered the warriors to move north. Aria stood beside him, armor strapped tight, her mark hidden beneath layers of cloth and steel. They rode through forests and rivers, through snow and shadow, until they reached the Frostwood Mountains. The air was colder here. Still. Too still. “This place is cursed,” Rhys muttered.

Several thick layers of snow covered everything in sight, from the bare branches of the humongous Pines, to the jagged rocky lands and hill slopes, the solitary flowing river nearby too, was encased in frosty glass. The freezing cold vast stretches of the oddly aligned peaks, that were collectively called the Snowy Mountains, truly lived up to its name, providing a perfect set of conditions to ensure, that a werewolf either gets trained to its best abilities or dies of frostbite, and fortunately all the Alphas that were receiving the training currently, did not experience the latter.

Once, Kael nearly slipped, but Aria caught his arm just in time, anchoring him with a strength that surprised them both. “How far?” Kael shouted over the wind. Aria lifted the Moonshard from under her cloak. It pulsed brighter now, drawing them toward the storm-wreathed summit. “We’re close!” she yelled back. By midday, they reached a plateau carved into the mountain’s heart. There, nestled within a cradle of ice, was the Temple of Frost — a cathedral of glacial spires, sealed behind a wall of crystal so thick it shimmered with ghostly light.

Chapter 44: The Frozen Anchor The Frost-Gate Basin was a jagged, midnight-black chasm carved into the outermost rim of the Northern Territory. On a standard winter night, the basin was a churning cauldron of high, white-capped waves that crashed violently against twin walls of solid ice and sheer black granite. Tonight, the violent sea was unnaturally quiet, choked into submission by a thick, freezing shelf of coastal ice that stretched three miles out into the deep-water trenches of the Northern Shelf. A heavy, biting blizzard tore down from the highest mountain peaks, carrying the sharp scent of oncoming sleet and the ancient, calcified frost of the northern ranges.

“If there’s something I should know, now would be the time.” Her lips twitched, “Renda’s going to freak out about all the snow.” She looked at me, “I hope you got her the thickest coat you could manage.” I stood, “Very well.” Renda groaned a little and sat up before staring outside. Her eyes brightened and she leaned towards the window. “Is… that snow?” I chuckled, “Yes. Lots of it.” “And mountains?” she asked in awe. Grace smiled and pointed towards the peak, “We’re going up there. That’s where Frost Pelt is.”