Ash Magic Novels & Stories

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.

Percy chuckled, killing two more wolves as he charged at Asher. Asher focused his energy, his claws half-shifted. This time, he wasn’t aiming for Percy’s body. Instead, he extended his hands, concentrating on the dark magic that surrounded Percy, the very core of his existence. As his claws flickered with fire, he slammed his hands down toward the ground. A burst of flame erupted, but it wasn’t aimed at Percy’s body. It shot directly at the core of the dark magic that kept Percy alive. Percy’s eyes widened in panic, but it was too late. Asher’s flames hit the very essence of the dark magic that formed Percy, and the magic itself began to disintegrate.

She knew that a difficult decision lay before her, one that could alter the course of their lives and the fate of their kingdom. Alisha's eyes widened as the realization struck her. She was a witch, well-versed in the mystical and the unseen. She could sense the depth and intensity of the bond between Ashier and Blair, the mate bond that transcended ordinary connections. It was a bond of life and death, one that would intertwine their emotions and bring them both joy and pain. Alisha understood the gravity of this bond, its unbreakable nature and the profound implications it held for Ashier's destiny.

The weight of the decision pressed heavily on Asha’s chest as she stood before the tank, staring at the distorted reflection of herself suspended in the glowing liquid. The figure inside seemed almost lifelike, yet the twisted form of her own image was a cruel reminder of the dark magic that had been used to manipulate her bloodline. The Soulbone Imprint was both a gift and a curse—one that had bound her to the very powers she sought to destroy.

I didn't mourn him for that exact reason . I wheeze as my breath is stolen from me along with my vision as huge drops form and fall every few seconds . I put my arms on the edge of the tub and lean back using the end as support . I lift my feet and blankly observe them . " What should I do now ? " I whisper . Asha wasn't lying about that . I don't think she'd have a reason to . Here she was talking about witches performing necromancy rituals but .. she didn't know how it would be affected if an immortal's power was involved .

If keeping silent meant staying out of any complications, then that was already an answer to my question. “We need to go now.” Ash said to me. “The moment I step out of here, people will recognize me.” “That’s why I’ll be putting a spell on you,” Agatha said. She picked up a jar, poured the contents into her hand—dried, ground-up grass—and then muttered more foreign words before blowing the contents of her palm straight at me. Just like every other time she did her ‘magic’, I didn’t feel any different. “Was that supposed to do something?”

She said, and I frowned at her. "How did you know this?" I asked, and she smiled. "The slightly watery eyes you all have is a sign of Ash poison. You have it too, luna. You need to fix yourself so the ash does not continue to feed off your life force and magic," She explained, and I frowned and calmed down. "Explain," I said, and she cleared her throat.

Bum leg, a hole in her chest, and burdened by despair—she looked forward to the end. Bisset had noticed her stirring, and he tried to charge past Kai to get to her. But Kai, beloved Kai, her mate and her partner and her other half, held him off as she wrapped cold, shaking fingers around Ash’s temples and drained the last of the remaining magic in her body. It came to her so easily that she could imagine it had belonged to her all along, and then it filled her body like warm water and soft music, the swaying of leaves and the shifting of dirt under her bare feet…

But she wasn’t exactly sure how. It started small. Flickering lights when she was angry. A crack spidering across the kitchen window when her mom screamed at her for not moving on already. Then there was the dream. It felt real. Too real. She was standing in a forest of ash trees. Everything was grey; the sky, ground, even the wind. Then she looked down and saw something glow on her skin. A mark. Twisting vines circling her arm, pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own.

Standing on a cliff surrounded by wolves, her hair woven with leaves and ash. Behind her, the forest burned. But she didn’t flinch. She raised her hand, and the flames bowed to her. I woke gasping, heart pounding, skin covered in sweat despite the cold. The moment I sat up, I felt it: A pulse. Low in my belly. Not pain. Not sickness. Magic Old, raw, and spiraling outward. Asha was the first to feel it. She barged into the old temple chamber I’d been sleeping in, her expression guarded but alert.