An Ember In The Ashes Series Novels & Stories

I snapped, pushing past her to open the window wider. “Asphyxia. That's the medical term that covers the entire…concept of suffocation. Just so you know, you know. But it's not like I was trying to kill you, or me. We're too young, and I'm incapable of murder, you know that. I've only ever killed geckos since I was born…” She rambled, trailing off when she saw my death stare. I admit, I was more pissed at the fact that her charred whatever woke me up from my dream. I wished I heard everything my father had to say, but unfortunately, I got woken up abruptly.

"I could see it in your eyes that you were desperate to find the real killer." "Thank you, Detective Taylor." One month later, Aidan was executed. He died in prison. I submitted my resignation to Ravenshire State Medical Center. Then I returned to Ashford Hollow, held a funeral for Aidan, and buried his ashes. After I went back to Ravenshire, I threw everything in my house that belonged to my mother into the trash. Once everything was cleared out, I sold the house. Then I left the country and began a new life. The following spring, I received an email from Detective Taylor. Attached was a letter my mother had written in prison. Her handwriting was neater than I expected.

"Alex must never suspect anything. Not a single doubt can enter his mind. If he does, everything burns — including whatever fragile love you've managed to cultivate in this house of ashes." With those ominous parting words, the mysterious figure melted silently into the surrounding darkness, leaving Eve completely alone in the charred remnants of the east wing. She stood there motionless for several long moments, her mind swirling with a torrent of new threats, fresh possibilities, and overwhelming emotions. The night remained deep and unforgiving around her, the conversation replaying endlessly in her thoughts as she clutched the envelope tightly. She had bought precious time, but the dange

“Virellion Thasra” “Virellion Thasra” “Thalvren Ekosa!” I opened my eyes and with my finest strength, I shouted; Thalvren Ekosa! And then he starts to say them fast in a gentle voice that I couldn't catch. “Fyralis Corven - From shadow to light, I invoke you to let your soul breathe once more.” “Zerithsl Dravenal - your heart beats, your pulse flow!” “Aelthsrjon Miriak - life rekindle, breath restore, eyes shine bright.”

Klaus said, setting down his glass and standing. “We’re with you, man,” Asher said, jumping up and nudging me. “Right, Owen?” “Yeah, sure, more eyes, better odds,” I muttered, forcing my voice steady to avoid suspicion. Klaus, Asher, and I, along with Klaus's parents, followed the fading scent into the woods. It weakened with every step, leading us in circles like some sets of idiots Ember had played. My guilt vanished, replaced by irritation. Ember was pulling some dramatic stunt, ruining the night. Rejecting her was the right choice; her weak-minded, emotional nature would drag the pack down with her.

Rain smashed into the earth like it wanted to bury the whole damn city, turning the graveyard into a sopping mess of mud and hunched figures clutching black umbrellas. Sienna Calder stood off to the side, her boots sinking into the muck, her old jacket—splattered with paint from a dozen late-night rants—sticking out like a middle finger among the somber suits. She wasn’t here to weep. She’d come to see the bastard in the ground for herself.

“They think you’re losing it.” “I am losing it. And maybe that’s what it’ll take.” She was quiet, studying me. Then, softly: “We’re with you.” I turned toward her. She held out a small vial. Inside it, a flame flickered. White with specks of gold. Not like any fire I’d seen before. “What is it?” I asked. “Part of the original ember,” she said. “From the Temple of Ashes. From the altar where Azaria first collapsed.”

Magic that carries names older than language. She walks into the courtyard of Emberhold. And as she passes, the ash lifts in spirals. It does not settle. It curls. And across the stone, in lines of scorched sigil, a word appears. Not spoken. Formed. One word. Ashwake.

Strange fungi pulsed along the ground like breathing bruises. Steve leaned toward her. “You sure this Mirror Gate exists?” Emma nodded. “The Ashwalkers wouldn’t lie.” “They don’t lie,” Long corrected. “But they don’t always tell the full truth, either.” Emma pressed a hand to her chest. The Heart Ember responded with a faint warmth. Its light had dulled in recent days, adapting to her body, finding a place to rest. But here—in this dead land—it pulsed like a heartbeat trying to keep her tethered to something real.

A mass grave meant nothing left to bury—scavengers, bones scattered, flesh devoured. But Matthew wouldn't let it go. "Eli suffered so much—I have to find him," he insisted, tearful and relentless. So my father, against his better judgment, sent a group of servants to the reeking pit of corpses to search for my remains. I followed them, watching as they prodded through the mountain of rotting bodies with long iron hooks. The stench was so foul that several young servants doubled over and vomited. In the end, it was George who found my corpse. He remembered the coarse cloth I'd been wearing when they sold me off—and the tiny, clumsy ink orchid I'd embroidered on the hem with my own hands.