Ares Of The North Novels & Stories

progressive-markdown_:is(p,blockquote,ul,ol,h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6)]:pr-8"> _*]:min-w-0 gap-3 standard-markdown"> The Northern Border was a freezing wasteland of black mud and red-stained snow. I stood in the center of the command tent, the air thick with the smell of blood and iron. Outside, the sounds of war were a constant, dull roar — the clash of steel, the whistling of arrows, and the deep, rough shouting of my Blackwood soldiers holding the line. We had been fighting for eighteen hours, and my muscles ached with exhaustion.

The others whirled to her That raging, fiery song charged closer. Through her Down the mating bond. Down into her very soul. A bellow of fury and defiance. From down the hill, Alec rasped, “Adolpha.” It was impossible, utterly impossible, and yet— “North,” Lorcan said, turning his bay gelding. “The surge came from the North.” From Asgorn A beacon in the night. Power rippling into the world, as it had done in Purisca

The air was thick with the scent of damp lanolin, pine resin, and the metallic tang of the sharpened needles that now seemed to be everywhere. Elara stood over the "Map of the Future," a massive, wall-spanning structure of interlocked frames. It was no longer a decorative tapestry; it was a three-dimensional representation of the mountain ranges surrounding the Ridge. Using shades of grey, black, and a haunting, bruised purple, the pack had knitted the topography of the Northern kingdoms. "The Northern Coven is here," Silas said, his finger tracing a line of jagged, silver-threaded peaks. "And the Southern Pack—the ones who ran from our beet juice—are here, regrouping in the lowlands. But lo

( Aria’s POV) The Northern Path stretched before them like a frozen wound, deeper than they’d imagined, shadows pooling beneath ice-laden branches. Dawn’s pale light barely pierced the frost-choked canopy, leaving the pack in a half-world between sleep and memory. Even the wind seemed cautious, hesitant to disturb the ground beneath their feet.

“The real map. One you won't find so easily. ” I narrowed my eyes. “You’ve been holding out on us.” He didn’t deny it. “I was waiting to see if you’d be stupid enough to try,” he said, voice low. “Now I know you are. So I might as well help you live through it.” He jabbed a weathered finger at the center of the scroll. It showed the Nytherra lands, but this version read deeper into the north. Black mountains. Winding ravines. Symbols in a language I barely understood.

More than thirty kilometers north of the great river, in the thickest part of the Grimshore woods, was the main head of the region. Fortified by large trees and guarded by warriors more fierce than bears, the pack called the ‘mighty northern stronghold’ was collapsing from the inside out, like an empire going through its decline. The northern pack was starting to fall.

The cliffs loomed in the distance ahead, a barrier between the packs and the rest of the continent. For the most part, the rogues spread themselves north, further from the capital city, hoping to claim the land for their kind. Asher reached the first face of the cliff, finding an easy way up the ledges, cresting the top within minutes. He didn’t need to be in wolf form to climb something that easy. From the top of a cliff, he got a beautiful view of the northern lands, though they weren’t as green as the southern ones. The further north it got, the chillier the weather was, coating the ground in ice.

While I was waiting, I looked back through the older part of the book. Some of the spells ranged from the tenth and twelfth centuries; some even earlier. I wondered if any of my ancestors had known King Arthur or Joan of Arc, but it was doubtful. My ancestors came from the Vikings. Interesting. Vikings were known for their strength and ruthlessness, among other things. I smirked, sure that held true for the Arctic Wolf-Witches of my people, too, who had settled in Alaska and the northern regions of North American by way of Iceland and Greenland. I suddenly wondered if some of my people had survived.

The northern border was a ridge of grey granite that jutted from the forest like the spine of a buried giant. Lira stood at its base, the early morning sun warming her dark fur, and studied the territory beyond. The trees here were different — ancient pines, their needles a deep blue-green, their trunks straight and tall as cathedral pillars. The air was colder, crisper, carrying the faint mineral scent of distant mountains. This was the domain of the northern packs, wolves who had lived in isolation for so long that they had become almost legendary to the southern territories. Hardy. Fierce. Suspicious of everything beyond their borders.

Her handwriting was neater than I expected. "Bentley, I was the only one who wronged your brother. Don’t hate me." That evening, I bought myself a bouquet of sunflowers. As I walked back to my apartment, the sound of an accordion drifted through the alley. This time, I didn’t quicken my pace.