Ash X Gladion Novels & Stories

“And the old magic recognized the anchor.” “Will the others understand?” “They will try,” it replied. “And they will fail.” Both creatures looked toward the faint, glowing outline of the lodge. “Prepare,” the Tikbalang said. “The next storm will not be hers. It will be theirs.” The rain made the Ashford border road slippery, but Noah didn’t stop. He gripped the steering wheel of his black Jeep Wrangler so hard his knuckles whitened, headlights cutting through sheets of water as he drove toward the lodge district they’d chosen for the retreat.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Aster had already ended the call before he could answer him back. Asher groaned in frustration before he put his phone inside his duffel bag and made sure that he had already packed the things he would need for practice later. Asher quickly undressed and hastily threw his clothes into the laundry basket before pulling a clean shirt from his shared closet with Aster. While closing the buttons of his shirt, Asher saw the words imprinted on his skin under his collarbones. Mi Girasol

It accepts him. Like he belongs here so thoroughly the earth doesn’t bother reacting. I don’t like how much that registers. “I know who you are,” he says. “That makes one of us.” His mouth twitches. Not a smile. A decision. “Ashton Ashborne,” he says. “Crown heir of the Northern Packs.” Of course he is. The name fits him—old, heavy, built to last through wars. I nod once. “Vaelira.” His gaze sharpens—not recognition. Interest. The kind that weighs consequences and proceeds

“No. But I should have. Guys like you usually bring them with you.” I smirked. “Guys like me?” “Leather, tattoos… gunshot wound,” he said dryly. “You scream of trouble.” He wasn’t wrong. “And you don't want any of that?” “Name’s Ash,” I muttered when he didn't reply and finally regretted it. Where were we? Tenth grade? I was watching him move around the small room tending to my wounds with precision. “Noah.” He finally said, not looking up. “Thanks, Noah.”

my mothers words scream at me inside my head. I look around at the people around me, some of the faces i recognize from over the years. I never bothered to make friends its kind of pointless when you hidding. " Anyone tries anything they die" says the man next to garret. Ive never seen him before he's well kept clearly a man of higher standing than garret with clean white sleeves and shiny boots. Hes handome with blonde hair and a sharp jaw. They all like that, beautiful built like gods with bodies carved from the heavens themself. But i know better its just a mask hiding the beast they really are. Devils disguised as angles.

Instead, he seemed to be watching the forest with an unusual stillness, as though listening for something that did not belong to the present moment. When she sat beside him, he did not look surprised. “You found her name,” he said quietly. Aisha did not deny it. “Yes,” she replied. Arman nodded once, as though that confirmation was enough. “She used to bring marigolds,” he said after a moment. Aisha felt a subtle shift in her attention. “Marigolds?” He nodded again. “She said they helped people remember warmth. She would place them near the window so the light would touch them first.”

He reasoned that she was probably still with Alex. Asher discarded his clothes, heading towards the bathroom. He was covered with sweat and grime. Asides that, he could still taste the dull taste of mud in his mouth. Those kids had truly dealt with him but yet, he was proud to have them as his friends. Someday, they'd make very good warriors in the pack. He was certain with pride swelling in his chest.

Using a single bullet each, I take them all out. I watch as Xavier runs from the forest, heading in the direction of Jax. He smiles as he sees a series of orange marks all over Jax. "Dude, you're not actually dead. They're just paintballs." "Ah, that may be true, but my pride is still injured."

A narrator’s voice followed: "This is not a story of survival. It’s a story of rebirth." The final frame: "Rising From the Ashes. Coming soon." It went viral within hours. Across the city, Adrian saw the video on his phone. His knuckles whitened as he clenched the device. She had just declared war in the most public, glamorous way possible. He picked up his phone. "Get me Natalie. Now." Back at the retreat, Natalie received the call. Amara glanced at the screen and arched an eyebrow. "Adrian Sinclair." Natalie took the phone and answered. "What do you want?"

Moonlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, stretching across the marble floor. I knelt on the balcony, applying a special herbal balm to the skin beneath my ribs—to the scars left by silver weapons thirteen years ago. They still ached. The scars always ached under the full moon, a cruel reminder of a past I fought to forget. "You're still using that balm." I didn't turn around. Kaelen's footsteps were loud on the cold marble. "I thought you'd forgotten that pain," he said. The anger was gone from his voice, replaced by something I couldn't quite place.