Arcane Crows Novels & Stories

It claims. Witch Isla raises her voice one final time. “Before gods and beasts and those who walk between—let it be known: Alexander and Nova are Co-Alphas of the Arcane-Oracle Pack. From two bloodlines, one.” The ground trembles slightly. Wolves howl. Witches cheer. Magic ignites the clearing, sparks rising like fireflies pulsing in gold, blue, and green. And then the celebration begins.

Mace said, his tone sharp as he motioned for them to follow him through a narrow, winding passageway that seemed to stretch into the very earth itself. “Aran!” Mace called out once they reached the secret chamber. The air was thick with a kind of holiness that made every breath feel heavier. They found Aran sitting on the ground, surrounded by piles of ancient scrolls, feverishly flipping through them. “Aran, what are you doing?” Grace rushed to his side. He didn’t look up as he spoke, his breathing uneven, his eyes wild. “Looking for a scroll written in red ink.” “What’s in that scroll?” Grace asked.

Through a break in the trees, the wreckage appeared—twisted beams still smoldering, metal glinting dully in the headlights. Riven killed the engine. “We’re here.” They hit the mud running, weapons up. Ari scanned the shadows. Kael swept left, moving like a wolf through the wet grass. Riven flanked the right side, pistol raised. Harlow and Roman closed off the rear, methodical and tense. Then—crack. A twig underfoot. Crowe stepped into view, face slick with rain, a knife glinting in his hand. His grin was wide and wordless.

Every step forward carried the unmistakable sense that they were no longer guests here but intruders, tolerated only by ancient restraint. Lucien slowed his horse first. Iris felt it then… A presence. It slid across her senses. Her gaze lifted just as the branches above them shivered. Perched on the thick limb of an ancient oak, a black crow watched them… its eyes too sharp, too knowing, glinting with intelligence that did not belong to any mere creature of the forest. Then it laughed. The sound was wrong, human and mocking. Then shadows rippled. Feathers folded inward, collapsing into flesh and bone as the shape twisted, unraveled, and reformed. In a seamless, unsettling motion, the crow be

CHAPTER 58: TRUTH SPELL. Soaring over the city, a crow flew to the coliseum. It perched at the top of the building, adjusting itself as it cawed. It blinked its eyes, revealing a purple coloration. It turned its head from one side to another, as though taking a view of the whole arena, and all that went on within. After a while, it cawed again and then flew off, heading toward a secluded part of Winterhill. It arrived at the old Grayson mansion and perched on a window, letting out a loud caw.

Images flickered in my head: • me barreling through enemies like a meteor • shadowfire coating my fur like armor • my howl cracking stone • lies burning away in my gaze My chest swelled with something fierce. Next, Morana guided me gently. “Call your mind.” I shifted again, my bones hollowing, feathers sweeping out, and air catching beneath new wings. A crow burst from the shadows, sleek and swift, circling Rowan’s head. “Your second form,” Morana said. “Sight. Strategy. Stealth. The crow sees truths others hide. She slips between shadows and hears secrets even the wind cannot carry.”

I watched him disappear into the kitchen. As I picked up his jacket to hang it properly, something slipped from the inner pocket. A card. Heavy. Embossed in gold. Conti Private Atelier – Bridal Collection Pickup Confirmation.

Zoran and Naelis immediately followed her gaze, their primordial instincts on high alert. Perched on a low branch was a large, jet black crow. Its eyes weren't the usual bead-like birds' eyes, they were cold, obsidian voids that seemed to be absorbing in everything they were saying. The bird sat perfectly still, its head tilted in a way that looked disturbingly human. The moment it realized it had been spotted, the crow let out a harsh, mocking caw. It spread its wings and took flight, disappearing into the dark canopy of the surrounding forest before Zoran could even think of shifting.

The return itself had already made a statement. And the school was listening. The main hall of Obscura Arcanum was never truly quiet. Even in winter. Voices echoed off vaulted stone ceilings. Footsteps layered in overlapping rhythms as students carried trunks toward their respective houses. The banners overhead shifted faintly in the air currents, Everley’s deep blue and silver nearest the eastern stair, Hawthorne’s forest green toward the west, Nerezza’s dark crimson lining the shadowed corridor, and the gold-threaded black of Aurelian hanging alone near the center like a reminder of something reclaimed.