Ashes Of The Past Novels & Stories

CASSANDRA The horrible sight before my eyes was the worst nightmare I’d ever seen, yet no matter how hard I pinched myself, it wasn’t going away. As the fire covered Asher’s body, his skin began to peel down. Soon, the black burnt skin became ashes, and then the ashes disappeared entirely and blew down the corridor. “No!” I screamed out of anger and sorrow. “No, no, no!” My lungs ached as I cried out, but I couldn’t stop. Tears spilled down my face like a river, and my vision started to break out with spots as I shook.

Aisha noticed it first in the small interruptions of her routine, the way she paused longer than necessary between patient files, the way her attention drifted back to Arman’s case even when she was supposed to be focused elsewhere, and the way certain words now carried a weight they had not carried before she began reading the deeper archives. M. Qureshi was one of those words. It no longer behaved like an initial. It behaved like an absence that had been carefully shaped. Aisha had expected clarity after the archives, but what she had found instead was something more disorienting, because the records did not form a single narrative so much as they revealed fractures in time, places where d

Emily’s Point of View For years I grieved children I thought were buried in ashes . Yesterday the truth did not whisper, it crashed into me like a storm ,my babies are alive. My babies did not perish in the fire ten years ago . The thought alone is enough to glue me to the bed long after the sun has clawed its way into the sky. Golden light streams through the tall windows of my penthouse, catching on the white silk curtains I never bothered to draw shut last night. The room feels too bright, too loud, too alive for a heart that has just relearned how to hope.

The sky darkens as if ash had found it too. Below, his laughter climbs—ruptured, furious, exultant. The pulse hammers through it, reminding even him: freedom is not a rule. --- POV: Ashmouth The world shakes. Chains lie in glowing shards, sinking into ash. My body is ruin—torn, bleeding, luminous. My laughter is ragged but alive. I lift my head. Shadows climb with me. Skulls orbit. Solara quakes; bells toll without hands. I grin through blood and ash.

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.

Aspen ordered, her voice trembling, her eyes hollow and distant. Jackie had no idea what Aspen was up to, but he dared not question her command. With that, he rushed to the car and returned with a thick plastic rod. Grimacing, he jabbed the stick into the disgusting sludge and began prying it apart. Then, the three of them froze as the rod hit something solid. Jackie dug faster, shoving clumps of mud aside until the shape beneath became clear. There, partially buried in the sludge, was a human skeleton. The body was half-decayed, and the bones were stained a sickly brown from the soil. The unmistakable hunch of the spine gave it away.

The Last Root Never Dies Kieran's POV Ash fell like snow on the ruined keep as dawn clawed its way over the orchard ridge. The chapel had collapsed into a smoking hollow in the night, its stones cracked open by flame and blood and the weight of every oath whispered beneath its vaulted ceiling. The oil fires had done their work well. Calor's final dogs had choked in the vault stair, their bodies piled so deep that the orchard roots would drink for seasons to come.

The witches were gone, leaving nothing behind but charred patterns on the scorched earth. When the dust finally settled, the clearing was a graveyard of ash and smoke. Rhea stood in the center, her clothes in tatters, her skin glowing with a faint, dying silver light. She looked down at her hands, which were stained with the grey dust of the women she had just annihilated. POV: Ash Ryder Ash walked through the wreckage, his heart feeling like it had been shredded by a thousand silver blades. The smell of ozone and death was suffocating. He found Micah first, the boy miraculously alive but catatonic, staring at the space where the willow tree had been.

I hadn’t washed it yet. However, when I examined the collar, my fingers paused. The button was loose. The thread looked new, like it had been forcibly pulled. I crouched down and opened the shoe cabinet. My pair of hospital slippers sat neatly inside. The soles were clean. I remembered clearly that the last time I wore them, there had been a faint yellowish stain from disinfectant. Now, the soles were gray-white, as if someone had deliberately scrubbed them clean. My breathing tightened slightly, but my expression didn’t change.

Too natural. I paused, fork in my mouth. What if my memories were gradually erased and I only had those from up until 2013? How would I stop history from repeating itself? I pushed myself up and speed walked into my room. My eyes located the wall I had dedicated to sticky notes. Sticky notes laid on the table beside the wall, I walked over and tore one out, picking up a random pen. Taking a deep breath, I wrote down something that would definitely push me to not let history repeat itself.