Arknights Horns Novels & Stories

Every few steps, I paused to listen for movement, the creak of a branch, the whisper of leaves, anything that might signal Sebastian’s advance. In the market square, I found an old warhorn, hanging unused since the last peace talk. I blew dust from its silver surface and tested a sharp note. The deep call echoed across the clearing. A dozen villagers and soldiers dropped what they held, startled. I let the horn rest against my shoulder. “You’ll want that at the gates tonight,” I told the captain of the guard. “If Sebastian moves in force, sound it at once.” He nodded gravely, eyes on the horn. “Yes, Lord Henry.”

The minutes dragged like hours. The wind grew louder, whistling through the empty iron grates of the keep. I could feel the distance stretching the bond between my pulse and the Reawakened; the farther Killian went, the harder I had to pull on the silver in my blood to keep the dead guards anchored. My chest ached, a cold, hollow sensation spreading through my ribs. Then, from the high ridge, a horn blew. It was not the hunt horn of the Blackwood. It was the sharp, high-pitched horn of the Iron-Claw pack, a signal of distress.

However, if Alectrona violates the law and orders once again, the moon goddess needs to protect her creations. I nodded at the wolf, holding a big horn. He immediately obeyed and blew it, creating a loud ear-piercing sound. The sound of loyalty and dominance. The cries of my kingdom at Shadow Rock. The uproar of my wolves. The rage in Thorin's eyes. The sound of Jaque's voice echoed in the air. The big horn was lifted, signaling our warriors to prepare. Two warriors raised our flags higher, a symbol of our unity and loyalty.

Aiden stepped forward, unslinging the weapon. It wasn’t a gun, though it had a trigger. It wasn’t a blade, though it gleamed like one when the last light hit it. A twisted staff of iron and bone, forged through pact-fire, lined with teeth that weren’t human or animal. The Hollowpact called it Naithur’s Spine. It hummed softly, like breath in a deep cavern. “Don’t shoot to kill,” Lark reminded. “Let it touch them. Let it change them.”

Claire jumped in. Claire was already in her mask. She walked over and opened the box in front of me. Inside was a black, filigree, venetian style with rhinestone embellishment mask. It suited my dress and shoes perfectly. Clare held it out to me. I took it and held it up to my face, I wrapped the side around and passed Claire the black silk ribbon. She tied it just under my loose bun to hide the knot and let ribbon flow into my hair. “Perfect,” she exclaimed.

The horn sounded again, it was much more closer this time and clearer. Kael's eyes immediately turned dark, his once adorable silver eyes turned dark exposing the light shown in between them. "It's a war horn." Kael said. Barely before he finished speaking, another sound followed, then lots of footsteps were heard. It headed for the outpost. Just then they realized that they weren't alone anymore, people were here to find them....

And it would consume them all. And then, a new sound broke the silence. It was not a roar or a chant. It was the sound of a single, clear, pure note. A note that was not of this world. A note that was not of magic or of chaos, but of life. It was the sound of a horn. The war horn of the Trident Guild.

In her hands she held no poison, but a forbidden artifact from the Great Tribunal: a horn carved from ancient bone, inscribed with runes of mass freezing. “If you are not of Silver Moon, you belong to no one, you useless fat cow!” Chloe shrieked in madness, raising the horn to her lips. A deep, ancient and terrifying sound echoed through the Valley of Bones. The ground trembled, and in the blink of an eye, the eastern slope of the ice mountain above the fortress groaned, unleashing an avalanche of rocks and frozen mystical snow that fell directly onto the outpost where we stood. “Maya, watch out!” Lawrence’s roar was instantaneous.

“Push them back!” Ryker answered with a thunderous howl, leaping atop a siege tower’s broken wheel. He ripped a horn from its mount and blew a call to arms that echoed off the walls. The wolves answered on cue, their lupine forms ghost‑silver in Nyra’s lingering lunar‐cloak.