Ashen Storm Novels & Stories

Right after posting it, while I was still reading comments mocking me for putting on a tough front, I saw Immortal Ashes Team’s official account tag me in a post, openly standing by my side. "The crowd follows the herd. The strong walk alone. Those who don’t know how to cherish what they have will lose it. Ash Mercer, we stand with you. IA will always be your strongest backing."

The perfect, composed Luna Camilla was unravelling before his eyes. Blaze’s smirk deepened as he took in the stunned expressions of the assembled Alphas, council members, and guests. They stood frozen, unsure of how to react to the bombshell Asher had just dropped. And why wouldn’t they be? This was supposed to be a celebration of power, unity, and tradition. Yet here stood Asher, the prized Alpha prince, proudly declaring a child with a rogue—a half-breed, no less. The scandal was delicious.

The runes pulsed like a heartbeat. The shadow paused just beyond the circle. It had no clear form, but hints of a muzzle and claws flickered in and out of existence, as if it couldn’t quite decide what it was. When it opened its mouth, no sound came out — only a ripple of cold that raised gooseflesh on everyone’s skin. Jude whispered, “What the hell…” Lyra’s eyes hardened. “It’s a Hound of Ash,” she said. “He makes them from the wolves who fight him.”

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.

Five pulses answered the question before any mouth could. Ashar looked at his hands as flame curled around his palms without burning him. “I am Ashar of Veydrin,” he said, but the name carried more weight than before. The air behind him shimmered with images of a civilization made of fire, stone, blood oath, and sanctuary towers built into mountains. Then those towers fell in silence, and the last flame entered him like a crown returning to its owner. “God of preservation,” he said, as if confessing to a crime.

"The anchor you placed here is strong, but it is a weight. It has drawn attention. The balance shifts. The next thing will not be a forgotten village or a drowned city. It will be a place of recent, violent loss. A wound that is still bleeding. We must go to the Ashen Wastes." The name sent a chill through the group, colder than the sea spray. The Ashen Wastes were what remained of the front lines of the war against the Shadow King. A place where armies had clashed, where the land had been scoured by dark magic and countless lives had been lost in a single, terrible day. It was a place no one went. The stories said it was cursed, that the ashes of the dead still fell like snow. It was also t

Ash bows his head graciously, “Asher Wild, Prince to the Vampire King of England. But please, call me Ash. Everyone does, it feels weird to have people say my full name now.” The king bows his head, “Her loss, if only temporary, is felt keenly here.” Luther says, and Ash nods,

“ The only way out of the Clan is death ,Eren. In case you've forgotten. And once you're dead,your sorry ass won't see Elizabeth ever again.” I stared at him for a few seconds before his words sank in. I scrubbed a hand over my face.“ Fuck..” He let out a dry laugh and let go of my clothes.“ You eventually come to your senses,eh? You are a fucking idiot.” He spat and then went over to the couch. I let my emotions do the thinking yesterday without consideration. “ I already talked with Aslan. He's bent on not changing the rules.” I spoke and collapsed on the couch beside Logan.

Her blood, his blood—Dorian’s twisted game, and she was neck-deep. “We gotta—” she started, but a loud snap cut through, close and mean. The floor bucked, the house groaning like it was dying, and Roman yanked her toward the door as plaster crashed down. They stumbled out into the storm, mud sucking at her boots, rain stinging her face.

Just then, a small head peeked through the suffocating smoke. “Madam, do you need any help?” someone asked timidly. I forced my eyes open and saw a young boy who was about the same age as my son. He was covered in ash and dirt, but his eyes shone brightly through the smoke. He was so small in size, yet he managed to muster the strength to help me up. Then, together, we slowly made our way outside. The path to the outside was incredibly challenging, and I felt like giving up several times.