Ashes Of The Past Novels & Stories

Chapter Thirteen – Ashes on the Road The road stretched endless beneath a bruised sky, dust curling into the air with each faltering step. Adrian’s boots ground against gravel and ash, dragging over ruins that had once been villages, homes, lives. Pain radiated from his ribs, the bullet graze still raw beneath the filthy bandages he had wrapped himself in. Every inhale flared like fire through his lungs.

"Evidence, leverage, their secrets—and mine." Three hours later — Sterling Foundry Colder than the memory it holds. The old Ashcroft foundry was all concrete and rust. Shattered windows, vines crawling over rusty beams. A metal back door glinted in the light of a dim bulb. Red spray paint overlaid it with a single word: ASHES. Cassian is beside me, pale but resolute. "You sure you can do this?" I asked. He nodded once. "Only if you're with me."

Ash smiled slowly, reverent and pressed her palm into the torch’s flame. The skin sizzled. She didn’t flinch. “She made me in her image,” Ash whispered, voice trembling with reverence and rage. “And then she tried to bury what she’d created.” Her gaze lifted to the blackened cross still hanging above the altar. “But daughters always rise from their mother’s bones.” The crowd roared. Chanting her name. Ash. Ash. Ash. And from the smoke-filled rafters, the first snow of burning ash fell soft as blessing, cruel as prophecy.

Imade opened Natasha's eyes to the realities of poverty as they shared experiences like eating street food and using public transportation. Imade discovered Natasha's privileged status and was amazed by it. However, Natasha's father disapproved of her behavior and lifestyle, especially her involvement in parties and association with people from lower social classes. He eventually made the decision to send her overseas to pursue her studies in business administration. Natasha and Imade's friendship had only lasted for a year, but their bond went far beyond mere friendship. However, after Natasha's departure, all attempts to reach Imade proved futile. Her little phone had malfunctioned, causin

A fiery flame burned them both but they refused to settle it down. Let it hurt to find reason to hate. “Our bond died long ago, we are only carrying the ashes of its corpse, Persephone.” He said, securing his fingers around her wrist holding his shirt. They were of actuality, grasping her skin firmly but the dejection was the witness of their journey, the end of their path. Yanking her hand away harshly, which pricked in a needle in their hearts, continuing, “These ashes connect us to the past, to those days we are desperately trying to forget but we are nothing now.”

Sadness. I glanced down at the letter still clutched in my hand, the paper fragile and crumpled from my grip. Slowly, I allowed a sliver of lightning to dance along its edges, watching as the parchment caught fire. The flames consumed the letter quickly, reducing it to ash in seconds, and I let the remains fall to the table in a blackened heap. Ashes. Just like everything else in this cursed palace. I stormed out of the throne room, my footsteps heavy and my thoughts darker than the night itself. The halls were quiet, too quiet, and every echo of my boots against the stone reminded me of how alone I truly was about to become.

As Charles was pushed into the incinerator, Logan filmed the entire process and put it up on my social media page. However, there was no response. Logan’s patience ran thin. He spammed me with voice messages. “Coral, if you don’t show up now, I’ll dump your father’s ashes straight into the sewer. “You’ll never find him again. “This is your final chance to show yourself to me.” Logan had never sent me so many messages since Elise came into our lives. However, his attempts to communicate were met with silence. Time went by. Slumping against his bench, Logan clenched the phone in his hand.

【Ashes on the Battlefield】 He did not know how he had survived. The gash across his back ran from shoulder blade to waist, flesh peeled outward, exposing gray-white fascia beneath. Blood had softened the frozen earth under him. Fallen leaves and mud churned together into a froth of dark red. Pheromones leaked from his scent gland. His body was giving up on its own. The scent of ashes—cold, dry, like the last trace of warmth after firewood has burned completely through.

The retreat of the Sun-Eaters had left behind a world that felt fundamentally broken. As I stood on the ramparts, leaning heavily into Silas’s warmth, I looked out over the valley. The snow, once a pristine and sparkling white, was gone. In its place was a thick, suffocating layer of pale grey ash—the remains of the ancient forest and the pulverized spirits of the Council’s ritual. It looked like a graveyard of a world that had forgotten how to breathe.